A Dream is a Wish the Spark Makes
by Fayola
Summary: One dreams of something -- anything -- more than what he has, while the other longs for the return to his previous, lesser life. They never expected to find what they desired in each other. Prowl/Jazz. NOT crack, and better than it sounds, I swear!
1. Chapter 1

Authoress's Notes: Okay, um -- *snerk* -- you obviously think enough of me to have opened this ridiculously titled monstrosity, so I'm sure you'll allow me to, um... *snort* explain myself. *cracks a rib trying to hold in laughter*

This started as a crack prompt over on a Livejournal community. _Someone_ -- who shall remain nameless but whom I adore -- was watching Cinderella III and put up a prompt for a Jazzerella fic, where Jazz was Cinderella, Prowl Prince Charming, Prime the Fairy Godmother, ect. I, being the idiot I am, looked at the prompt for a total of eight seconds and had a full-fledged and totally _serious_ story outlined.

So... here goes nothing.

* * *

The orn was bright and warm, the magnificent skyline of Iacon crisp and clear against the morning sun. Cybertron seemed unable to rest; the city was already bustling with activity despite the early joor. A bot couldn't help but smile at the orn and the atmosphere it brought.

And yet Jazz wept.

He had been dreaming again. Dreaming of home, of family, of a time when he was happy. Not remembering – no, all those things were too far in the past for memory to serve – but dreaming. It was a blissful thing, a much-needed escape from his world.

But dreams had to end sometime. No one could forever delay the return to reality.

Jazz rolled over, staring up at the ceiling and sighing heavily through his vents. It had been a good dream. He had been with his creators, sitting around the table in their home, talking and drinking their evening energon. If he shuttered his optics tightly, he could almost make out their faces.

Having almost forgotten just what had woken him from recharge, Jazz opened his optics in surprise as Starscream called him again.

"Get you aft off that berth and get us our energon!"

With another forlorn sigh of his intakes, Jazz sat up and scooted to the edge of his berth. He rubbed the remnants of coolant from his optics, reaching blindly for his visor on his side table. It was not where he left it. Pulling his hands away, using what little sight he had left, he searched about the floor of his tiny room, patting along the cold surface in case his faulty eyes missed it. It was not there.

Jazz sat back on his heels, mild irritation turning into resigned credence. He knew where it was.

He stood, crossing the short distance to the door in just two steps. Feeling along the walls of the narrow hall as guidance, he descended the stairs through the darkness into the main house, heading straight for the kitchen once he reached the bottom.

"Give it back, guys," he demanded upon entering and recognizing the forms of Thundercracker and Skywarp sitting at a small table. The pair snickered.

"Give what back?" Skywarp asked, tone of voice one of feigned innocence.

"Yeah," his brother added stupidly. "Give you what back?"

"My visor," Jazz sighed. After nearly a lifetime of the game, he'd grown weary of it. "Just give it back, a'ight?"

"Your what?" Even without it, Jazz could see the wide, malicious grin on Skywarp's faceplates. Fortunately, Starscream chose that moment to walk into the room.

"Where's my energon, you lazy, good-for-nothing little glitch?" he snarled at Jazz, who merely sighed for what felt like the millionth time in his life.

"I can't find it," the black and white mech said, turning around and to show his benefactor just why that was so. Knowing the Seeker was particularly stupid, though, he added aloud, "Sky-dork an' Dunder-cracker took my visor... again."

Starscream sneered at Jazz's impudence, but nonetheless turned to his brothers and snapped, "Give it back to the glitch, you fraggers, unless _you_ want to do his chores today!"

Scowling darkly, Skywarp pulled the desired object from subspace and threw it on the ground near Jazz's feet. Glad the game would not be an orn-long event this time, Jazz quickly stooped down to retrieve it. Starscream kicked at his aft, sending the little mech sprawling face first onto the floor.

"And you," he hissed, "watch your vocalizor."

Skywarp and Thundercracker laughed unpleasantly as Jazz got to his feet. They rose from the table, following their elder brother from the kitchen and into the adjoining sitting area, where they would await their morning energon.

Jazz sighed as they left. He felt along his visor, grimacing as he noticed yet another small chink in its form, a new addition granted by its latest abuse from the Seeker bothers. He clicked it into place, hiding his glitched optics from view. As the room slowly came into focus, he began moving about, preparing the overdue energon for the awaiting trio, sighing sadly to himself every now and again.

He didn't know why it always surprised him. This was his life, orn in and orn out. Nothing ever changed. He would never be treated like an equal – his position in the house would always be more like a servant than the adopted step-sibling that he was. And yet, every orn, he would wake to the cries of his patrons, in his tiny attic room, expecting his few belongings to be where they left them, expecting to walk downstairs and be greeted with, if not words of courtesy, at least more than a sneer of disgust. And yet, every orn, nothing would come with the dawn save continual disappointment.

Vorns ago, he'd discovered a way to make it through each agonizing orn.

Whenever he was alone, he would dream.

He would dream of his creators. He would invent the sire he never knew, try to recall the mother he knew only briefly. He would imagine he still lived with them, happy and carefree, that he still had someone who loved him. He would think of anything and everything to avoid reality.

And then Starscream would call, and he would sigh.


	2. Chapter 2

Authoress's Notes: Chapter 2, brought to you by poular demand! (Okay, not so much, but it's written, so I'mma posting!)

* * *

"Which vintage do you think we should use as welcome drinks?"

Prowl did not respond immediately. He did not even realize the question had been directed at him until something small and quite solid hit the back of his helm. Giving a rather undignified little yelp of surprise, he whipped around to glare at his offender. Trying to maintain his dignity, he restrained himself from rubbing the sore spot.

"That was uncalled for, Mirage," he said coolly. The Towers mech ground the gears of his vocalizor together in a snort.

"I've been talking to a titanium wall for the past twenty breems," he said in reason, raising one elegant optic ridge. "Prime himself could have come in and shot me, and you would have remained sulking in you stupor."

"I am not sulking," Prowl said. Sulkily.

"Of course not," Mirage smiled condescendingly. "You are above such things."

Prowl frowned, but Mirage started up again before he could say anything.

"Now that you've returned to the land of the functioning, tell me: which vintage energon should we have at the door when the guests start to arrive?"

Two cubes were held up for the black and white mech to see. The looked identical, as did the liquid within them, but Prowl knew they were vastly different. Each had a different flavor, a different sweetness brought on by varying refining processes and the passage of time. He just couldn't tell the one from the other.

"The left one," he said halfsparkedly, turning back to stare longingly out the window again. His left foot bumped up against something – a very thick data pad, the item Mirage had chucked at his head a moment ago – and he stooped to pick it up. He looked at its contents: a guest list. He gave a mental grimace at the size of it. A subconscious subroutine in his CPU began memorizing the designations.

"Sometimes I wonder if you'd be happier if you simply returned to being a regular law bot," the blue mech sighed, noticing what Prowl was doing.

"You requested me specifically," Prowl said, wondering who the frag Slayer was and what someone of such a designation had done to merit an invitation. "My personal happiness is not relevant."

"It's always relevant," his companion responded, "even if you don't want it to be."

"Hm." Prowl said no more on the matter, knowing how stubborn the Towers mech could be. He contented himself to looking back out the window, trying this time to keep himself from going into another haze of boredom. He was glad there were no other servants in the room; it would not do well for him to be spotted not doing his job.

As he stood staring down at the city, the admission he would not make aloud came to surface: he _did_ wish he could return to being an Enforcer. His past may not have been an entirely happy one, but at least he could go home every night feel satisfied that he had made a change, that he had helped make a difference for the better. While many could argue great perks for his current situation, when it came down to it, there was just no personal fulfillment in being the bodyguard of nobility.

He longed for the return to normal society. He did not belong here. This bejeweled world was unfamiliar, hard and cold. Its brilliance made him ache for the simplicity he once knew. All the sickeningly sweet vintage energon Mirage spent his time fussing over were not to his taste, not when he'd grown used to drinking energon so gritty it had to be strained through the dentalplates. He was being overwhelmed by wealth, slowly being buried alive.

But his sense of duty would not allow him to leave. He had at first tried anything and everything he could to get out of it. In the end, his commanding officer had to all but order him to take the job, and Prowl's sense of decorum and responsibility would not let him refuse.

And so here he had been for the last three vorns, obligated by duty to stay and, as more and more time passed, desiring to remain due to an odd sort of fondness he had grown for Mirage. They had grown beyond the state of employer/employee and become strong confidants, even friends, much to his disgust. As much as he wanted to leave, he wanted to stay.

Now, though, he thought to himself, looking back down at the data pad in his hand, he wondered if all the glamour might just actually kill him. He _hated_ parties.

"Come on, Prowl," Mirage said suddenly, jerking the black and white mech from his thoughts once more (though fortunately without the aid of flying objects). "I was being serious about the energon. Come taste them, at least. I want your opinion."

Reluctantly tearing his optics away from the window, Prowl turned to obey the request with a heavy sigh.


	3. Chapter 3

Authoress's Notes: Thanks to all the lovely readers who sent me words of love! I hope I do not disappoint with this next installment, one which contains the introduction of Jazzerella's Fairy God-mech and his helpful mice friends.

* * *

In one of those rare and coveted moments of freedom, when his adoptive brothers were gone from their home, Jazz found himself wandering leisurely down the street. He was in no rush – Starscream was away from Cybertron doing research, and Thundercracker and Skywarp were out for most of the orn. He stared up at the sky as he walked, relishing the sight, savoring every detail and committing them to memory so that when he was again forced indoors, he could remember what his brief freedom tasted like. He became lost in himself, momentarily forgetting the world around him, until he bumped into someone full force.

"Watch it!" the other mech growled, brushing past Jazz roughly and hurrying on his way.

"Sorry," Jazz murmured to his retreating back, a bit embarrassed. Resolved to more intently watch the road before him – and the bots on it – he started walking again, surprised to note he was nearly at his intended destination. (Just how long had he been walking with his head thrown back, staring up past the rooftops like an open-mouthed idiot?) He hung a left, entering a residential area of the city. He grinned as he soon spotted two familiar forms in the distance and headed towards them, jumping over fences and cutting across empty yards instead of following the longer path around them. As he drew nearer, he could hear the pair arguing intently.

"Wassup, guys?" Jazz asked them cheerfully, hopping down from the short wall he'd been walking on.

"Sunny is _cheating,_" the red twin declared empathetically, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Sunny snarled and shoved the offending digit away.

"How does your lack of skill equate to me cheating?" he scowled.

Jazz looked down at the table around which his friends were seated, noticing for the first time the game they had sprawled across it. He didn't know what it was or how it was played, but Jazz would have bet good credits – something the Twins would have gladly taken him up on – that it had something to do with their love of gambling. If that was the case, Sideswipe's declaration of a greeting was most likely true, for if the brothers loved anything more than gambling, it was cheating each other out of their credits.

A sweet, throaty voice suddenly came from the direction of the house.

"If you younglings are playing one of your stupid games in my garden again, I'm going to let Ironhide shoot you the next time he's here."

The tone was light, but the way the femme stood, stance wide, arms folded across her chest, and narrowed optics implied the seriousness of her threat. There was a sudden scrambling for cards, game pieces, and credits, hurried cries of "Of course not!" and "Never, Elita!" thrown out in reassurance. Jazz only chuckled merrily, skipping across the yard to hug the femme standing in the doorway as his companions subspaced away their ill-gotten gains.

"Lita, my love!" he declared dramatically, kissing both her cheeks, hands resting on her shoulders. "When you gonna fin'ly leave that lump uv-a mate o' yers and run away wit' me?"

Elita snorted, swatting him away playfully, saying, "And just what am I to do with a youngling like you? Dress you up and make you my nursemaid?"

Jazz reeled away, clutching at the armor above his spark as though she'd dealt him a stunning blown. Sunny and Sides snickered at his antics as he staggered about dramatically.

"You wound me with your words, femme!" he cried, stretching one beseeching hand toward her.

"I'll wound you with more than words, sparkling," came a deep rumble. Optimus stepped up behind his bonded, glaring good-naturedly at the black and white mech, who promptly fell to the ground in a heap, feigning death, though by broken spark or the Senator's rifle was uncertain.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe laughed, clapping their hands and calling dutifully for an encore. Elita merely rolled her optics, stepping over the black and white mech to join the Twins at the table. The Senator followed his mate, but nudged the still motionless mech with one foot as he passed, saying, "I just made energon goodies."

As if struck by a bolt of energy, Jazz shot up, grinning widely, nearly knocking the tray of said goodies out of the Senator's hand. Swiping one and shoving it into his mouth whole, he said around it, "Why, thank you, Optimus! You know the way to a mech's spark!"

"Just don't try to kiss me," the red and blue mech responded dryly, settling into the seat next to his bonded. Half his tray of energon goodies was gone before his hydraulics stopped hissing.

"Mm, 's good, 'Lita!" Sideswipe praised, seeming to follow Jazz's footsteps and shoving another treat into his mouth without bothering to chew the first. Elita smiled wryly.

"Oh, don't thank me this time," she said, quickly snatching up her own goodie before they all vanished down the tanks of the seemingly starved mechs. "Optimus was serious; he made these."

The Twins froze, hands both reaching for their fourth treat. They shared a horrified look, then began pretending to purge their tanks.

"Oh, knock it off," Optimus growled, leaning forward to whack them both upside the head, which they were unable to duck in time. "I swear, you lot still act like the younglings you were the orn I met you."

"An' here we are," Jazz said, smiling fondly at the memory, "all these vorns into our adulthood an' still swipin' yer goodies."

"Indeed," Elita sighed, faceplates a picture of regret as she watched Sunstreaker and Sideswipe continue to scarf down treats. Jazz would have believed her were it not for the twitch of a smile in the corner of her lip components. She sighed again. "A horde of glitchmice would eat less than you two."

Jazz reached for another handful of the energon treats, chuckling.

"Three," Elita modified.

Optimus chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that came from deep within his chest. He leaned back in his seat with a satisfied sigh, taking Elita's hand in his own enormous one. He fixed Jazz with an all-too-familiar, calculating look, one that seemed to peer right through him.

"So, Jazz," he began, tone light but faceplates serious (one of the many things he and Elita had in common, Jazz thought to himself). "What brings you here today?"

Jazz shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. He had never told the Senator about his situation outright, but he had a feeling that, by piecing together little bits of information Jazz had let slip and reading between the lines, the older mech knew anyways. Still, Jazz remained silent about any unhappiness in his home. He wanted friendship out of Optimus, not pity.

"Y'know, same ol'," he replied with a forced grin. "Just felt a li'l under-energized an' knew you'd never turn away a pretty face."

Elita laughed, but the seriousness did not leave her optics. The smile on Jazz's faceplates faltered briefly.

Quite suddenly, Jazz heard the sounds of two very familiar jet engines flying overhead, two engines to two jets he did not think would be back in the city for another three joors. The smile disappeared altogether.

"I better get goin'," he said quickly, rising from his seat. "Senator, Lita, thanks. Guys," he turned to the twins with a grin. "You gotta show me that game later.

They grinned back. Elita frowned.

"Later!" Without further ado, he hopped the low wall and began sauntering down the path, playing a little music clip over his speakers as he went. As soon as he was out of sight of his company, though, he began running, hoping that Thundercracker and Skywarp were flying slowly today.

* * * * *

Following the trend his brothers had set a deca-orn previously, Starscream returned home early, nearly three orns so. With his return came the unmissed bossiness and ordering Jazz around and all-around I'm-far-more-superior-to-you supreme attitude. It wasn't long before Jazz found himself wishing his mission hadn't gone so well.

The morning It arrived hadn't been a bad one. Jazz had woken at dawn – on his own, for once – and gotten a head start on his chores before the Seekers even awoke. He had their energon ready and waiting for them when they finally did, so it was not until mid-orn arrived that he even saw the despised trio.

Jazz supposed the only reason Starscream had called him in there was to show It off. He wanted to rub It in Jazz's faceplates, to show him what he could see, could almost touch, but not have.

"Get in here, Glitch, and clean up this mess!"

Jazz sighed, leaving off where he was in scrubbing the floor of the front entry and following Starscream's cry into his office, where he found a cube of energon that had been upset. And, in Starscream's left hand, It.

Jazz easily identified what It was. There could be no mistaking the seal of the Towers. Feigning ignorance, however, Jazz went right to work cleaning up the spilled energon.

"Look at this, you two," Starscream said to Thundercracker and Skywarp, waving It back and forth, back and forth. Jazz tried not to follow It with his optics.

"What is it?" Skywarp walked over to his brother, snatching It from his hand. Curious optics roved over the seal Jazz had spotted from across the room, lighting up in recognition. "An invitation to the Towers! What's the big party for this time?"

"A pre-bonding-ceremony social," Starscream answered, taking It back. "You know these nobility. They have to throw an extravaganza to announce when they will announce someone's soon-to-be-engagement."

"Should be fun anyways," Thundercracker shrugged. Jazz tried to ignore the ringing in his audios. He stood abruptly.

"Done." He began for the door, but not before catching the nasty grin on Starscream's faceplates.

"Good," the larger mech all but leered. Then he turned to Thundercracker, adding, "Yes, I suppose you're right. We may as well go."

Jazz hurried from the room, unable to shut out Starscream's voice, and caught his last comment before the door cycled shut. He went back to the front of the house and continued to clean to floor, trying not to think about the fact that _we _did not include _him._


	4. Chapter 4

"You should do it."

_Plink._

"Are you listening to me?"

_Plink, plink._

"Believe it or not, I think Sunny's right. You should go."

Jazz only picked at another loose corner of a roof tile and threw the separating piece down the slope below in response. _Plink._

Sideswipe blew an exasperated sigh through his vents. He looked to his twin for help. They shared a look of mutual frustration and sadness before Sunstreaker tried again.

"You should just go, Jazz. Who are they to stop you?"

_Plink._ "My caretakers."

"Yeah right," Sideswipe snorted. "The way we see it, you're doing more taking care of them than they are of you."

"Besides," Sunny added, "if you don't want to stay here, Optimus and Elita –"

"Aren't my creators," Jazz cut in sharply, cool façade slipping briefly. "An' as nice as they are t' me, I'm still jus' some whelp off-a the street who wandered into their yard one orn t' steal some hot energon goodies off their window sill."

"Ah, what a day that was," Sideswipe sighed nostalgically, cracking a grin. "Not some of our finer work…"

"We were barely outta sparklinghood," Sunny reminded him. "We were not yet learned in the art of sneakery."

"True."

Jazz allowed a small smile as the memory filtered through his CPU. They had indeed been very young. Age no hindrance, though, their enthusiasm for the job had been great… and just a little too loud. Through the open window, Elita had been able to clearly hear them whispering loudly to one another, strategic conversations as to how best snatch the treats. Had she looked out, she would have also been able to see them not-so-sneakily creeping around the perimeter of the backyard to the house. The femme had been kind enough to allow them to steal a few of the goodies before sending out her bonded to scare them off. (Not the intended result – Optimus had been trying to invite them inside.)

Most fortunately, their skill in the department of stealth had improved greatly since then. Jazz, small and lithe, was the best of the three. He'd even been able to go as far as break into the Senator's home while he and his bonded were there, steal the desired treats, and slip out unnoticed. (This all to the surprise of Optimus and Elita, who were told later that orn when the threesome went back to visit properly.) Jazz's stealth was a handy skill, allowing him to slip out of his own home to spend time with Sunny and Sides and, more importantly, sneak back in without the Seekers even knowing he was gone.

"You should go," Sideswipe said yet again, breaking Jazz from his reverie.

"I can't," the black and white mech frowned. _Plink, plink._

A sudden angry screech came from within the house.

"Thundercracker!" they could faintly hear Starscream shout. "Quit making all that tapping noise!"

"It's not me!" his brother responded indignantly.

"Then what the frag is it?!"

"How should I know!"

The three mechs on the roof snorted behind their hands in laughter. For good measure, both Sunny and Sides ripped off whole tiles and chucked them down the slope of the roof, eliciting another enraged shriek from Starscream.

"Seriously, Jazz," Sunstreaker began after they stopped giggling. "You can't keep living like this."

"Like what?" he said defiantly.

"Like _this!" _the golden twin said emphatically, waving his hands in the air to punctuate his next words. "Like… you're sitting up here on the roof of your own home just to escape the presence of the Pit-spawn that are infesting it! Or did you forget that they are living in _your creators' _home, not you in there's?"

"No, I didn't forget," Jazz said sullenly.

"It was their mother that came and looked after your father," Sunny went on, despite the glare on his friend's faceplates that suggested he just keep quite. "Your father, who graciously allowed them to live here while they looked after you, who was too sick and sparkbroken to do anything when they started to take over your house and home! I highly doubt this is the way he wanted you to be living."

"Sunny, shut up," Sideswipe muttered to his twin.

"No, I'm not done," Sunstreaker growled, tone graduating from annoyed to angry. "Jazz, you have a way out. Just take it!"

"I can't!" the smaller mech shouted back.

"Why not?" Sunny glared. "You tell me why living with Elita and Optimus would be _so_ much worse than staying in this Pit!"

Jazz stopped, glare slowly dissipating. He dropped his gaze, staring down at his lap. How could he answer that? How could he describe the feelings he battled with every day? How could he tell his friends he'd rather remain here, living with bots who despised him, than live with someone who would pity him and be forced to take their charity? He just couldn't bring himself to be that much of a burden. But he knew neither of the twins would understand that, so instead he muttered quietly, "I don't know. I jus'… I don't know."

* * * * *

Let the record show that Optimus, Senator and Counsel Member to Prime, high commanding officer of the Cybertron army, one of the most respected mechs in all of Cybertron, big, buff, and bad-aft Optimus, hated parties. He despised them with the fiery passion of the Pit. He found nothing more irritating than spending joors on end standing in a crowded, noisy room making idle small talk — which he was terrible at doing -- with mechs he hardly knew. It ground on his last sensory node. He preferred to spend his evenings in his own, quiet home, perhaps reading a good bookfile and enjoying a cube of high-grade.

Let the record also show that Elita One, leader of the femme contingent of Cybertron's army and mate to Senator Optimus, loved them. She positively thrived on them. The liveliness of the environment, the positive mood shared by those in attendance, the chance for meeting new bots – she ate it up.

And so, when she held up an invitation to a party at the Towers to celebrate the engagement of one of the nobility, Optimus smiled, lying through his dentalplates and their bond as he expressed his excitement.

While the record is being updated so neatly, let it also be known that Optimus feared nothing more than when his mate was upset with him. And refusing to go to a party would certainly upset her.

Keeping the fake smile plastered on his faceplates – mostly to keep from crying – Optimus listened with half an audio as his bonded prattled on about the party, who was going to be there, what it was going to be like, which vintage high-grade would be served, and the like. It wasn't until a designation caught his attention that he perked up and said something in response.

"… believe that Mirage and Hound are finally bonding, though the matter of rank must have impeded the process somewhere along the –"

"Hound?" Optimus interrupted, surprised. "Our Hound?"

"Yes, love," Elita said with strained patience. "Haven't you been listening at all? Mirage and Hound have been one another's Intended for a while, but they only now have set the bonding ceremony. I think it's because of all those silly standards with the nobility and –"

"Why didn't he just tell me himself?" Optimus mused aloud, cutting off his mate once again.

"I wouldn't have any idea, love," Elita said, pinning him with a look of innocent vacuity. "After all, I'm sure he knows the love you have for parties."

Optimus ducked his head sheepishly at having his weak façade called out. "Still… I'm his commanding officer. I would have assumed he would tell me of these things personally instead of bothering to send a formal invitation."

"I doubt one more invitation would have been much reason to worry," Elita mused. "It seems nearly all of Iacon is invited."

"Really?"

"That's what Chromia says."

"Even the Seeker brothers, you think?"

Elita paused at the tone her bonded used, one of guile and calculation.

"Yes, I suppose," she said at last.

"Which would lead one to assume Jazz will be there."

"Yes, I suppose that's true as well."

Optimus scowled. "He'd better be, or else I am going to do something about it."

Elita sighed, knowing he was not simply referring to the party and assuring Jazz's attendance. She walked over to where he sat, settling easily in his lap. She wrapped one arm around his neck, putting the hand of the other on his cheekplate. She reached out comfortingly through their bond, trying to soothe away the discontent and sorrow he felt. It wasn't easy, as Elita felt the same way herself. She, like her bonded, had grown to love the little mech over the vorns. She couldn't have felt closer to him if he were her own creation. And yet there was that part of him that would always distance himself from them, the part of him which, over time, Elita and Optimus had come to understand without a direct confession.

"There is nothing we can do," she said softly, sadly.

"There is always something we can do," Optimus growled in response.

"Not while he refuses to admit discontent." She began rubbing soothing circles around his audios. "We cannot force ourselves into his life. He will only pull further away."

Optimus gave a heavy sigh through his vents, knowing this was true. He shuttered his optics, leaning into the hand of his bonded. He didn't like the idea and admitted as much, saying, "Fine, but the instant he lets loose any displeasure with those Seekers, I'm doing everything in my power to get those slaggers out of his life."

Elita made a small noise of agreement, adding, "As will I. but until then, all we can do is wait."

Optimus sighed again as that grim thought settled in his CPU. With all the power he held, all he could do was wait for the mech he considered to be his son to finally admit he was living a miserly half-life. It did not bode well with the great mech.

"We can only hope that it will be soon."


	5. Chapter 5

Notes: Thanks again to my readers. I love opening my inbox and seeing reviews! Here's yet another chapter for you. It didn't turn out as expected, for Prowl was being an aft and demanded to have another chapter before I got into more Jazz angst.

* * *

The orn had at long last arrived. The party would soon upon them, and the Towers were buzzing with activity. Not a spark, neither servant nor noble alike, was without something to do. Last minute decorations were being placed, large cubes of energon set out to be poured into smaller cubes for individuals, trays of goodies and treats arranged, every surface being cleaned one last time – the usual hustle and bustle that preceded any event.

Prowl hated all of it.

No place in the Tower was still. There was nowhere quiet for the ex-Enforcer to take a moment and just relax. (Not that he would have been able to slip away. Mirage was attempting to personally see to everything, and thus was everywhere, and it was Prowl's duty as his bodyguard to follow.)

Fortunately, though, all the activity made the orn seem to fly by, and they were now only a joor away from the start of the party.

Unfortunately, all the activity made the orn seem to fly by, and they were now only a joor away from the start of the party.

Prowl, for not the first time that too-short orn, cursed sullenly.

Mirage, slag him, seemed to grow increasingly cheerful the closer they came to the start of the event. However, he also grew increasingly nervous, something he expressed through chatter. He would not stop _talking_ – about what they would be serving, about who was coming, about how wonderful Hound looked, about _everything_. Prowl was lucky he'd had vorns of practice listening to the inane prattle of his brother, else he would have ripped off his own chevron in irritation.

Most fortunately, the noble was not talking directly to him – at least, not at the moment – but instead to the servant that was currently polishing Mirage's already sparkling new paintjob to an impossible shine. Prowl listened with half an audio as he restlessly paced Mirage's quarters. Hound, sitting in a chair off to the side, caught Prowl's attention as he passed.

"Good thing he's not like this _all_ the time," he said in a conspiratorial whisper of his Intended.

Prowl was about to dismiss the comment with something off-hand, like 'Oh, it's not that bad', or 'I don't mind it', but his bad mood let slip a snort and a whispered, "Indeed."

Hound chuckled. "You wanna slip away for a breem? I doubt he's gonna be moving for a while, as meticulous as he is about his wax jobs."

"No, I shall remain here," Prowl said with a wary glance at the door, "where it's safe."

Hound laughed again, this time catching his Intended's attention.

"What's so amusing?" he inquired.

Hound spared the ex-Enforcer a glance before he replied, "Nothing, 'Raj. Just Prowl bein' funny again."

"Like I believe that," Mirage snorted.

"Excuse me," Prowl said in indignation, "but I can be _incredibly_ entertaining."

"Entertaining, yes," the noble agreed. "But 'funny' just isn't your strong suit. Logic is more your thing."

"Perhaps a convenient fact," Prowl retorted. "A _funny_ bodyguard would have allowed you to enter that rather seedy looking shop you were so intent upon visiting a deca-cycle ago. I'm sure you remember the one I'm referring to. It was just raided by the Enforcers two orns ago?"

"Wait wait wait – what?" Hound looked shocked. "_Mirage_ wanted to go in there? Pit, even _I _avoided that place! That guy that runs it, Swindle… he's just _creepy_."

"Yes, well," Mirage said sniffily, "as creepy as he may seem, he had a set of cubes carved from perfectly flawless amethyst. You should have seen the intricate detail the artist put into the design."

"It is amazing the things one can attain through thievery," Prowl said blandly. "How fortunate that I am not so attracted to shiny objects as your mate is, Hound, else this evening might have been spoiled by an inquiry."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Mirage chided, adding a small thanks to his servant as he finished buffing out his wax job and left.

"No drama implied," Prowl scoffed. "Perhaps you have been unable to read the news feeds due to the stars in your optics – oh, don't laugh, Hound, you've been just a love-struck – but I have been dutifully keeping up on current events. That mech Swindle was dealing illicit and experimental weapons under the table to the Decepticons. All bots that show up on his shop records have been undergoing inquiries with the Enforcers."

"Well!" Mirage exclaimed. "That truly surprises me."

"Does it?" Hound quirked an optic ridge. "The Decepticon party has been getting more and more aggressive about their stand on things. Rumors of an uprising have been circulating for –"

"No, not the weapons dealing," Mirage clarified with a smirk, "the fact that a mech like Swindle kept a list of clients. He seems more like the 'credits in hand or no sale' type."

"Very amusing," Prowl grumbled.

"Well, stop being so depressing!" Mirage scolded. "In case you have forgotten, this is a rather special orn for me, and you're ruining it with your gloomy attitude."

"My apologies," the ex-Enforcer said dryly, "but, if I may remind you, you hired me."

"Yes, about that," Mirage mused. "I've been meaning to tell you something."

"What?" Prowl raised an inquiring optic ridge.

"You're fired," Mirage said simply.

"_What?!_"

"I'm firing you," Mirage repeated, as though Prowl had misheard him.

Prowl was certain something of his had just short-circuited. Was this a joke? No, Mirage looked too serious; he always smirked at his own jokes. As if seeking confirmation, he turned to Hound. The green mech did not look surprised. They'd obviously discussed this.

Initial shock having worn off, logic returning, he calmly turned back to Mirage and said dryly, "I'm assuming this isn't merely because I denied you a pretty set of drinking cubes…"

"No," Mirage confirmed with a chuckle. "No, we've been pondering on this for some time now. What it boils down to is you simply aren't happy."

"My happiness isn't releva –"

"Yes, it _is_," Mirage interrupted him firmly. "It's a Primus-given right to be happy, and you're just _miserable._"

"Not entirely," Prowl insisted weakly.

"Hm." Mirage folded his arms across his chest. "I don't know what your life was like before I met you other than what I read in your dossier and the public news feeds that featured your accolades, but I'm guessing you weren't nearly as… oh, what's the word… _mopey _as you are now.

"This life is just not for you, Prowl. While I do value your work and, even more so, your friendship, I know this is not what you want. The past three vorns have been too long, too hard on you. It's time you left."

"And just what am I to do?" Prowl protested placidly.

"Well I'm not kicking you out on your skid plate this very breem," Mirage chided with a smile. "I'll give you a few deca-cycles to figure out where you want to go, what you want to do. I'd be more than willing to pull a few strings if you wanted to become an Enforcer again."

"I will think about it," Prowl said quietly. "I appreciate the offer."

"So you'll leave, then?" Mirage said with barely-contained surprise and relief.

"Are you so eager to see me go?" Prowl said with one of his rare smiles.

"Oh, very," Mirage smirked. "At this point, I really don't care what you do. Go back to the Enforcers, join the army, become a Decepticon – so long as you're not so sullen and grumpy anymore."

"Based on the 'Cons I've met so far, I think their party _promotes_ sullen, grumpy personalities, 'Raj," Hound said with a chuckle.

"Then he'll fit right in," Mirage declared, clapping his hands together as though that settled it.

Prowl smiled again, then, softly, sincerely, said, "Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

Authoress's Notes: Boy, this is coming along quicker than I expected it to. Yet another chapter, this one with Fairy Godmech Optimus and Jazzerella's two little glitchmice friends helping him get ready for the ball. And is that a play on the glass slippers I see at the end? Why, yes it is!

* * *

The orn had finally arrived. The start of the party, at which the noble Mirage would formally announce his Intended, was just a few short joors away, and the Seeker brothers were busily getting themselves washed, polished, and ready for the formal event.

Or, rather, they were standing about as they ordered Jazz to do it for them.

The small black and white didn't mind. Not really. He was so busy he didn't have time to feel sorry for himself. Didn't have time to linger on the fact that, even if he had a joor to spare and ready himself, he was not allowed to attend. Didn't have time to think about how unwanted he was by even members of his own adoptive family.

It was as they left, though, as they walked proudly out the door, helms held high, parting with one last order to stay home and finish his chores – which had been delayed due to all the time he'd spent helping the Seekers ready for the party – that Jazz finally had time to feel.

Anger. Why did they have to add in that last jab? He knew he couldn't go. And didn't he always get his work done?

Sadness. Another night spent alone.

Self-loathing. He was worthless. No one wanted him there anyways.

Resignation. This was the way things were, this was the way they would always be. This was not going to be the last party he would be forbidden to attend. He might as well get over it now.

With that thought, he turned away from the door and headed for his tiny attic room, not even caring about the chores he still had left to do. He trudged up the steps, each footstep echoing in the large, empty house, each one an empty, hollow sound, reminding him that he was completely alone, alone, _alone._

He waited until he reached his room, then the torrent of coolant came. He stumbled over to his berth, collapsed onto the surface, and cried. He did not know for how long – it could have been breems, it could have been joors. But he cried until, at last spent, the bliss of recharge came and stole him away.

* * * * *

He awoke to a soft, lyrical chime. It took him a while to blink away the haze of recharge and identify what the noise, so different from his usual wake-up call, was.

It came again.

The door chime.

Somebot was at the door.

Jazz rolled onto his side, turning his back to his bedroom door. Whoever it was, they would go away when no one would answer. The Seekers were at the party, as most of Iacon was, and he, to much of that same population, did not exist. The odds were slim indeed that the bot pressing their door chime was there to see him. Even if it was the only two bots that would seek out his company, they knew the pass code.

Obviously, then, it came to Jazz's great surprise that he heard the voice of Senator Optimus calling out his name. From within his home.

Jazz bolted from his berth and was out his door, down the rickety little flight of stairs, and at the top of the grander main staircase in a matter of astroseconds. Panic had set his feet in motion – he can't be here, he can't see me like this, he can't know! – and had not allowed him time to stop and think. Upon setting optics upon the mech in question, though, standing in the foyer and looking up at him expectantly, he came to a dead stop. It was too late to go back, now that he'd been seen, but he didn't want to continue on and face Optimus up close.

"There you are, youngling," the Senator rumbled with a small smile. "Do you ignore all guests, or just the ones that know how to break into your home?"

Jazz simply stared, struck dumb momentarily.

"Come down here, please," Optimus ordered gently. And, to his horror and surprise, Jazz felt himself complying.

"We were just on our way to the Towers, Elita and I" he said conversationally as soon as Jazz was standing before him. "We just so happened to be out taking a stroll earlier and saw the Seekers leave without you in their company, so we thought we'd come by and see if you were ready yet."

Jazz looked down at his peds. "I'm not…"

"Well, I can wait," Optimus said.

"No, I – thank you, but I'm not going." Jazz shuttered his optics tightly, wishing the kind Senator would just go away.

"Jazz…" A large finger placed itself beneath the black and white's chin, forcing the mech to look up at Optimus's faceplates. The Senator wore a look a gentle austerity. With that same finger, he traced the lines of coolant that had run from Jazz's optics down his face and dried in streaks. "You are going."

At that moment, the door chose to swish open, revealing the Senator's beautiful mate and Jazz's two best friends, one of which was struggling to keep a grip on a large crate.

"Wouldja gimmie a hand with this, Sides?" Sunstreaker growled. "This isn't as easy as it looks, y'know."

"It's all your slag, why should I carry it?" Sideswipe protested. "I'm not the one – oh, hey Jazz – I'm not the one who wanted to bring _every slaggin beauty product you owned._ That was _whose_ idea?"

"Enough, you two," Elita chided, pushing past the Twins, who were struggling with each other as well as the crate to see who would enter first, and made straight for Jazz.

"Oh, my dear, it's good to see you again," she crooned, wrapping him in a hug. She held him there for a moment, then pulled away to look him up and down. "Now, I was helping those two scrapheads unload, so I missed introductions, but I'm sure Optimus has relayed that you're coming with us."

The tone held the slight inflection of a question, so Optimus answered, "We'd just gotten to that point, yes."

"Elita, I – "

"You be quite," Elita ordered with a stern look, cutting off Jazz's protests. "You're coming as our guest, and no one is going to say anything about it."

Something new began to stir inside of Jazz.

"Though if you play it right, there shouldn't be any problems. The Towers are a big place, after all…

Something warm and wonderful.

"And with so many bots there, I doubt you'll even see certain mechs that are better off avoided…"

Hope.

"Cummon, Jazz, I didn't haul all this stuff here for nothing!" Sunstreaker growled.

All optics were on Jazz, waiting for his answer. The mech himself couldn't speak. He was too afraid vocalizing this feeling would break the magic it seemed to bring. Instead, trembling with excitement, he nodded.

Elita clapped her hands in joy while Sideswipe whooped. Sunny merely growled, "You'd better have wash racks on this level, cuz there is no _way_ I'm making it upstairs with this load."

"This way," Jazz replied, vocalizer wavering with emotion. The Twins dutifully set off in the direction he had gestured. Jazz turned to follow them, but he turned back to Elita and Optimus.

"Is there anything you need?" he asked. "Anything I can get you? Energon?"

"They can find the kitchen themselves, Jazz!" Sideswipe shouted over his shoulder. "Now get your aft over here and help us! Sunny brought the whole fragging _store_ with him!"

Jazz hurried to comply. The crate, as he found out when they reached the washrack and opened it, was filled with a variety of products, ranging from high-end solvents and cleaners to scratch-filler to several different types of wax and polish, along with a set of paintbrushes and two large cans of paint, one marked "pure white", the other "ebony".

"Had to sell a couple of paintings for these," Sunstreaker muttered, pulling out the can of black paint and beginning to shake it. Jazz opened his mouth, about to protest, when Sideswipe cut him off.

"Jazz, it's no big deal," the red twin said, laying a comforting hand on Jazz's shoulder. "That's just what Sunny does: he paints a few canvases, fawns over them for a couple of deca-cycles, then sells them to make room for new ones. It's his standard egotistical cycle."

"It's not egotistical to appreciate one's own work," Sunstreaker said sniffily. He set down the can of paint in favor of a few bottles of cleanser. "Now get to work. Rinse first, then the tall solvent – scrub really hard – then the round cleanser, _then_ the stuff that's in the little bottle. Make sure you get his back real good, Sides."

"Yeah, yeah," his twin groused. "I've only helped you do it a million times… _this deca-cycle_."

Sunstreaker's only response was to throw a large stiff-bristled scrub brush at his helm before going back to the task of mixing up the cans of paint. Sideswipe was not short on retorts, however, and kept up an endless tirade the entire time he was scrubbing down Jazz. (He ended up cleaning both his back _and_ front, for Jazz, as Sunstreaker complained, was not scrubbing hard enough on his own.) Jazz, good mood continually growing, laughed at some of the clever insults Sideswipe was coming up with, only minimally bothered by the slight sting that whatever was in the tall bottle of solvent caused.

Thoroughly washed, both red and golden twin alike rescued large shammies from the bottom of the crate and proceeded to towel Jazz down. Even after that he was set under the drying vent for a few breems ("To make sure all your crevasses are really dry," Sunstreaker had said) before the artist had set to work on filling in small scratches, buffing him out with a sander, and repainting him. That last one had been a bit of a challenge. Jazz, it turned out, was rather ticklish, and more than once had squirmed away from Sunstreaker's brushes. But a few death threats later saw the black and white fully painted and once again standing underneath the drying vent. The wait was longer this time, a fact that was making Jazz a little antsy.

"Just consider yourself lucky," Sideswipe growled. "Sunny makes me stay under there for a full fraggin' _joor_ when he does me. Wants to make sure I'm _totally dry _before he'll let me even ventilate air."

Jazz's wait was only a quarter that long before Sunstreaker deemed him dry enough to polish. Jazz, by this point used to the fact that he did not know how to properly groom himself by Sunstreaker's standards, merely stuck his arms out from his sides and let himself be buffed out. (A bit more squirming as Sideswipe tended to his sensitive sides, but it was not as hard to stand still for this as had been for the repaint.)

Finally finished, the Twins took a step back and admired their work. Sunstreaker gave a satisfied nod of his helm. Sideswipe let out a low whistle.

"Not bad, bro," the red twin said, impressed. "Jazz, you should see yourself."

"I don't wanna," he replied.

"Why not?" Sunstreaker demanded to know.

"No insult t' yer work or anything," Jazz said, putting up his hands in pacification. "I jus'… I don't wanna ruin it. I'mma 'fraid it'll all go away once I look and see it's real."

The Twins, fortunately, seemed to understand. They nodded, then stepped aside to allow Jazz to go past them. He paused only briefly to wrap them in a tight hug – "Watch the paint!" Sunny growled – before leaving the washroom and heading back for the foyer.

Optimus and Elita, seated comfortably on a bench beside the front door, stood upon seeing him approach. The femme gave a little gasp, putting her hands to her chestplates.

"Oh, Jazz," she sighed. "Just look at you!"

"That bad, huh?" he replied with a grin.

"Oh, stop it, you look absolutely wonderful!" She tried to be chiding, but the amazement was still prominent. "Never looked better!"

"Implyin' I look bad ev'ry other orn?" Jazz asked cheekily.

"Just… better than usual," Optimus said diplomatically, smiling down at the smaller mech. "There is something missing, though."

"Don't tell Sunny that, he'll kick yer aft from here t' Praxus for saying there's somethin' he missed," Jazz warned.

"No, he missed nothing," Optimus chuckled. "This part was _my_ job."

Jazz cocked his head to the side in curiosity. He was about to ask just what the Senator meant by that when, out of subspace, the red and blue mech brought an object into view that made Jazz's intakes hitch.

There, shining brightly in Optimus's outstretched palm, was a new visor.

"Optimus, m' mech," he breathed, one hand hovering over the band. "Optimus… I can't –"

"You can and you will," Optimus said firmly, cutting off Jazz's objection. "The credits are already spent, and it's made only for you."

Jazz was moved beyond words. He fought back the coolant tears that were pricking at his optics, knowing Sunny would only scold him for needing to wash his faceplates again so soon. This declaration of his friends love for him was beyond anything he'd ever imagined, even in his wildest dreams. To know he meant so much to these bots left his CPU buzzing. He mattered.

To Optimus, Elita, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe – he _mattered._

With shaking hands, he reached up and pulled off his old visor, storing it away in subspace. Then, picking up the new one with all the reverence it deserved, he carefully snapped it into place, waiting a moment for his systems to accept the new hardware before looking up at Optimus and Elita.

"Now," the Senator rumbled, "you are ready to go."


	7. Chapter 7

Authoress's Notes: Beware excited!Jazz in this chapter. He doesn't get out much. 0_o Neither do I. Just HOW many updates have I put up in the past few days?

* * *

Jazz couldn't believe it. He wanted to hit himself, make sure he wasn't just dreaming again, but he knew Sunny would give him Pit if he knew he'd scuffed his paint before he'd even arrived at the party –

The party.

He was going to the party!

And thus began the cycle of disbelief all over again.

Elita must have noticed how antsy Jazz was getting, for she struck up a one-sided conversation to give him something to focus all his nervous energy on.

"Now, it started about two joors ago – we wanted to make sure Starscream and the others were really gone before we came by, and then of course we had to find those two twin miscreants – but that is nothing to worry about. These things tend to go on all night, some well into the next orn. If these Tower mechs know how to do one thing right, it's throw a good bash. Do you know who Hound and Mirage are? I've only met Mirage once – he's blue and white, very good looking – but Hound is in Optimus's unit, so we know him very well. He's rather large, green and – oh, I'll just point them out to you. Have you even tasted Towers' brew high-grade before?"

On and on she went, Jazz soaking up every word, Optimus – well, Optimus had experienced enough of Elita's rants to learn how to tune them out. He just thanked Primus that they did not occur frequently. Though in this case, he was rather grateful for it. He could see Jazz relaxing more and more as they traveled.

They turned a corner, and the Towers came into view. He could sense Jazz squirming on his mag strips behind him.

"Are you sure you're old enough to be going to this party, youngling?" he teased the black and white good-naturedly.

"Excuse a mech fer not gettin' out much," Jazz snorted. "You two an' the Twins are about the extent o' my entertainment."

"What a dreadful thought!" Elita exclaimed in mock horror.

"Ain't it?" Jazz chuckled. "I'mma thinkin' I could get used t' these, though, from the way you've been talkin', 'Lita."

"They get old fast," Optimus warned sagely.

"They do not, you rusty old scrap heap," Elita needled. "Jazz, don't listen to the party pooper. You're going to enjoy yourself, I know it."

Further conversation was halted for the moment as they pulled up to the entrance of one of the great Towers and transformed. The guards that stood to either side of the door recognized Optimus and Elita and nodded in greeting to them.

"Welcome, Senator," one said warmly. "Commander, I hope you are well."

"Yes, thank you," Elita responded with a smile.

"This young mech," Optimus said, placing one large hand on Jazz's shoulder, "is Jazz. His invitation is with the remainder of his group, who are already inside. Unfortunately, we detained him and they had to leave without him."

"Not a problem, sir," the same guard said, eyeing Jazz curiously. "Go on in, the three of you. Things are already in full swing."

"No doubt," Elita said. "Parties at the Towers wait for no bot."

With that, the femme led the way in, the guards both bowing their helms respectfully as they passed. Optimus, hand still on Jazz's shoulder, felt a little thrill of excitement pass through the black and white.

"Do ya use that trick on all the mechs you smuggle inna parties?" Jazz asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"You make me out to be some sort of lawbreaker," Optimus said with some amusement. "That really wasn't even a lie. You _were_ invited, and the Seekers _are_ already here."

"Hush, you two," Elita said in what Optimus referred to as her "business voice". "No discussing our little criminal conquest at the party. You're in, and that's all that matters."

"Yessir!" Jazz gave a sharp salute. Elita smiled, then gestured before her. They had reached the end of the hall at were at the threshold of the great room that was being used for the gathering. Optimus felt another shiver course through the mech at his side.

"After you, Jazz…"

* * *

Prowl, audios ringing from all the noise, optics aching from the clash of so many different paintjobs, and systems buzzing from the cube of high-grade he had consumed, took a moment to fully appreciate the fact that he had been recently fired.

Fired.

He no longer had to attend these pointless functions, no longer had to try to memorize the name and faceplates of every mech or femme they encountered, no longer had to run what information he could glean about them through his tactical simulator to test their threat to his charge. (And _oh_ how his tactical simulator ached already!) He was a free mech. This was the last party he had to suffer through. He could do it. He could make it!

It was only two joors into the party, however, and Prowl's stamina was fading. A ridiculous thought, for how much energy did it take to follow Mirage and Hound about the room, hold up a cube of high-grade ("You are going to at least_ pretend_ to enjoy yourself," Mirage had ordered), and smile stiffly at the bots he was introduced to? Just ridiculous.

Prowl took a long drink from his cube, hiding a grimace at the over-powering flavor. Towers brew was an acquired taste, and despite the number of socials and functions he had attended with Mirage, his sensors had not quite adjusted to the drink.

"'Raj, Optimus just walked in," Hound pointed out to his mate.

"Oh, good!" the noble said cheerfully, linking his arm through Hound's. "Shall we go and meet them?"

Prowl glanced toward the door, easily spotting the large frame of the Senator. The mech had already been stopped by another – Ironhide, if Prowl remembered correctly, and his mate Chromia. Beside the tall bot, Prowl caught a flash of pink, belong to, he presumed, Optimus's own mate, Elita. The femme did not seem to be interested in the conversation her bonded was having, talking instead to someone Prowl could not see. Curious and not watching his peds, Prowl very nearly ran into Hound's back as the other mech came to a stop.

"Inferno!" the green mech exclaimed, revealing the reason for their sudden halt. "Good to see you! How have you been?"

More small talk. Attention still caught by the Senator and his party, Prowl glanced back their direction just in time to see Ironhide shift and bring into view the previously hidden mech.

There, standing between the Senator and the Femme Commander, was a mech Prowl had not seen before. He was certain he would have remembered him if he had. He was small and lithe, and he held himself with an air of confidence. His monochromatic paintjob, almost opposite of Prowl's own, stood out against all the bright colors of the room. He was listening intently to whatever it was Elita was telling him, looking about the grand room with an expression of mild wonder on his faceplates.

Elita pointed over in Prowl's direction. The black and white beside her nodded as he spotted Mirage, then Hound, then, before Prowl could gather his wits and sense of decorum and look away, he locked his gaze with Prowl's own.

The mech smiled. It was just a twitch of the lip components, just the upturn of one corner of the mouth, but it made Prowl's spark flutter. The mech was beautiful.

And then, all too soon, the mech looked away, turning back to Elita and continuing their conversation. Prowl felt a ridiculous urge to call out to him, wave wildly, jump up and down – _anything_ to reclaim his attention!

Fortunately, logic returned and reasoned with him – as soon as Inferno left, Hound and Mirage would be on their way to see Optimus and Elita and, most importantly, this new mech. He could wait. And until then, he would satisfy himself with watching this mystery mech.

Almost immediately, though, he was startled out of this by the mention of his name.

"Yes?" he inquired, turning to Mirage.

"This is Inferno," Mirage repeated, looking only mildly piqued. "He and Hound both serve under the same unit."

"Oh. Yes, hello." Prowl filed away that knowledge, unconsciously running it through his tactical simulator. Low risk.

"Good ta meetcha!" the large red mech said cheerfully. "Any friend o' Hound's is a friend o' mine."

"Likewise." Very low risk.

"Well, I'll let ya get back t' yer guests," Inferno said. "An' again, congratulations!"

Hound and Mirage both thanked him cordially, then waited until he walked away before they resumed their interrupted trek over to Senator Optimus and Commander Elita. Prowl eagerly followed – and stopped short when he saw that, during his brief conversation with Inferno, the black and white that had stood between them was now gone.

He quickly scanned the room, but the mech was no where to be seen. He'd slipped into the crowds surrounding and escaped Prowl's watchful optic.

With a minute sigh of disappointment, Prowl hurried to catch up with Mirage and Hound, sincerely hoping that before the night was out he would at least learn the designation of the mysterious mech.


	8. Chapter 8

Jazz, at Elita's order to "quit hanging around and go have some fun", had politely excused himself and wandered off, leaving the femme Commander and Senator to converse with their old friends. (Ironhide and Chromia themselves had been pleasantly surprised to see the younger mech attending the social gathering.)

He was making his way around the edge of the crowd – hoping that would keep him hidden from unwanted optics – trying very hard to look like he belonged. He must have been doing a decent job of it, for mechs and femmes that he passed were nodding to him or exchanging polite hellos as they passed. One femme, her group of friends standing giggling off to one side, even asked him if he would like to dance. So startled by the invitation, he said no without even thinking. She pouted at his refusal.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jazz said quickly. "It's just that I, um, I don't know how."

"Don't know how!" she exclaimed, giggling. "I'll show you, then!"

And with that, she grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. She gave him a few quick instructions as the musicians prepared for the next song, and then they were off, the pretty little femme running a quite commentary the whole while – turn here, grab her hand there, spin around and come together. Somewhere along the way, Jazz found his sense of rhythm and was able to repeat the steps the femme had taught him without faltering. Much too soon, the song was over.

"You were wonderful!" the blue little femme praised as they bowed to one another. "Are you sure that was your first time?"

"Just had a great teacher to guide me along," Jazz said with a smile. The femme flushed and giggled.

"Care to go again?" she asked eagerly.

"Perhaps later?" Jazz said tentatively, hoping to turn her down without hurting her feelings.

"Alright, then!" she said brightly. "I'll keep an optic out for you!"

Jazz nodded, clasped her hand briefly in both his own, then turned away, passing her little gaggle of friends as he went. He nodded cordially at them, much to their delight. As soon as he walked beyond them, they began to giggle and whisper amongst themselves. Jazz chuckled to himself. Was everyone always in such a good mood at these parties?

He contented himself with continuing his circuit around the massive room. There was just so much to look at! The room itself was a sight to see – carved pillars lining the room depicting ancient scenes in Cybertronian history, tall arched ceilings painted to depict the night sky, floor a checkerboard pattern of silver and copper, walls lined with intricate paintings – but the decorations that were obviously placed there just for that evening amplified its beauty. Tall statues carved out of crystal and even marble – where had they imported _that _from, Jazz briefly wondered – stood guard around the room. Intricate orbs blown from glass, ranging from sizes small enough to fit in the palm of his hand to so large he wouldn't be able to wrap his arms around them, hung from the ceiling on long strands of filament, giving them the appearance of floating above their helms.

He tried to take it all in at once. A bad idea, as he nearly collided with a servant. As it was, he caught sight of the bot in time to avoid knocking the tray of high-grade out of his hands.

"Would you care for a cube, sir?" the servant asked politely, unaware of the danger he had been in.

"Thank you," Jazz said, taking one of the offered drinks. He waited until the servant had continued on his way, then took a tentative sip, wary of Elita's warning that it came on a little strong, and very nearly spat it back out.

The femme had been making an understatement.

Fortunately, though, he was able to control himself and swallowed the energon with a barely-contained grimace. It tingled all the way down into his fuel tanks. He stared at the cube, contemplating just what to do with it.

"When in the Towers," he said with a shrug, then took a long, deep drink.

* * *

Prowl had nearly given up on seeing the nameless mech. (He hadn't even learned his designation. Decorum simply hadn't allowed him to ask Senator Optimus "Who was that rather attractive mech your mate was speaking to earlier?") It was by the hand of the ever-fickle Primus himself that Prowl even spotted him again, lingering in the back of the room.

So close. He was so _close_ to him, and yet his sense of duty refused to allow him to wander away from his charge. His responsibilities were as black and white as his paintjob. He had to remain near Mirage.

_Move Mirage to him, then_, his CPU suggested.

Yes. Now there was an idea.

Desperately, he sought about for something – anything – that would convince Mirage to move closer to the other black and white mech. Primus must have truly been looking out for him, for he found it not an arm's reach away from the object of his desires in the form of another Towers mech, one whom Mirage knew quite well.

"Sir," he said gently, tapping Mirage on the shoulder, "I believe you have been neglecting Noble Quicksilver."

Mirage curiously followed Prowl's gesturing hand with his optics, then exclaimed, "_There_ the mech is, he's been eluding us all night. Thank you, Prowl."

Prowl merely nodded and fell into step behind his employer. Keeping his emotions in check – wouldn't do to break now, would it? – they drew closer to the silver noble, in turn drawing closer to the black and white that stood some distance to the left of him. Prowl tried to catch his optic as they passed by, but the mech chose at that moment to turn and wander over to the long table of goodies and treats.

"Quicksilver," Mirage greeted cordially, "it's good to have you here. So sorry I did not find you among the madness earlier, but you know how these things go."

"Indeed," his fellow noble responded. "Quite the turn-out. Tell me, did you invite _all_ of Iacon?"

Mirage chuckled, responding in turn, but it was at that point that Prowl stopped listening. Instead, his attentions were focused on the black and white that stood just out of reach. He took a step backwards, towards the mech, then paused.

He took another step. Hound cast him a brief curious look, but was immediately sucked back into the conversation his mate and Quicksilver were having.

Like a sparkling testing the limits of his creators, Prowl took another tentative step backwards. No reaction.

Feeling courageous, he turned around and walked the rest of the distance to the black and white mech. He was now standing but an arm's reach away from him. He glanced over his shoulder, pleased to see Mirage still chatting away with his fellow noble.

This was alright, his logic circuits reasoned. He was still close enough that, should the unthinkable arise and Mirage need protecting, he was still close enough to be able to whisk the noble away from harm.

Proud of himself for having achieved his goal, he reached out, about to tap the other mech on the shoulder and at last garner his attention, when something stopped him.

What was that? That clenching of his fuel tanks?

…Primus above, was he _nervous?_

He had thought about nothing all night but meeting this mysterious, this strange, this beautiful mech that had made his spark flutter so, and now that he finally had a chance, he was being held back by nerves? He was an Enforcer, for Primus sake! He'd dealt with more frightening things than introducing himself to another mech before!

He could do it. Just reach out and tap him on the shoulder.

He could do it…

Apparently, he couldn't. It did not matter, though, for as he continued to stand there like some malfunctioned drone, the other mech turned around.

* * *

Jazz started in surprise upon turning and finding another mech standing just an arm's length away.

"Hi," he said politely.

"Hello." The mech had a smooth tenor voice, very pleasing on the audios. If only the greeting hadn't been so cool and emotionless.

Jazz, thinking perhaps the mech was attempting to retrieve one of the goodies on the table behind him, took a step to the side and out of the way. The mech's optics followed him.

"I, er…" Jazz floundered for something to say, squirming under the intensity of the other black and white's gaze. "I saw you earlier…"

"Yes," the mech said absentmindedly. Then, as if coming to his senses, said, "My apologies. My designation is Prowl."

"'M Jazz," he responded.

"Jazz..." Prowl repeated the name, rolling it around in his mouth, savoring the sound. "It's a pleasure to meet you."


	9. Chapter 9

Authoress's Notes: I'd like to apologize in advance for Optimus in this chapter. He kinda... weasled his way in at the last second and refused to leave, ruining an otherwise rather serious chapter.

* * *

"Nice t' meet you too," Jazz said, giving a shy smile, that same small quirk of the mouthplates that he had given Prowl earlier that evening.

Prowl tried not to stare. It was rather difficult, as the mech – Jazz – was even more beautiful up close than he'd been when glimpsed from across the room. His intent scrutiny of the other black and white was only made more obvious as Prowl's CPU failed him and he could think of nothing else to say.

"High-grade?"

Prowl very nearly started in surprise as the servant came up behind him, holding out a tray of cubes for him and Jazz to choose from. Jumping on the distraction, Prowl reached out and took one. Jazz followed his lead, quietly thanking the mech, who nodded and left.

Jazz stared at the cube for a moment, faceplates betraying slight apprehension. Prowl smiled.

"You won't hurt their feelings by saying no," he said in amusement. Jazz looked up at him, grinning sheepishly.

"'S just not t' my taste," he admitted. "Simple mech, simple pleasures."

"Believe me, I understand," Prowl said. "Were I not so in need of a stimulant tonight, I would have declined myself."

"This ain't enough of a stimulant for ya?" Jazz lilted, sweeping his free hand toward the general crowd.

"This is your first time at the Towers."

It was not a question, but Jazz nodded in the affirmative anyways.

"These parties tend to get old," Prowl said dryly. "Rather quickly, too."

Jazz laughed, a light, lyrical sound. "So Optimus complains."

"Yes, I noticed you came in with the Senator," Prowl commented. "Do you serve under him?"

"Naw, I've known him an' 'Lita since I was a youngling," Jazz replied with a fond smile.

"Old family friends?"

The smile turned a bit rueful. "Not exactly."

Prowl quirked a curious optic ridge.

"My friends an' I used ta steal Elita's energon goodies offa her windowsill," he clarified. "Optimus caught us one orn, invited us to come in an' sit with them."

"A rather daunting thought," Prowl mused with a small smile. "He's quite the imposing figure to us fully grown mechs. To a youngling… I can only imagine."

"Oh, we hauled aft outta there," Jazz assured him wryly. "'Lita made sure she was the one t' invite us in when we came back the next orn."

"You actually went back?" Prowl said with a chuckle.

"You ain't never had one o' the Commander's goodies," Jazz said simply.

"No, I'm afraid not," Prowl said. "Nowhere in her numerous accolades does it even mention that she enjoys making energon confections. Though that is perhaps a good thing. I can't imagine it would be conducive to her aft-whooping image."

Jazz laughed again. Prowl realized that this time he had purposefully provoked it.

The pair of black and whites shifted their position, together walking over to some of the empty seats that were lining the outer edge of the room, abandoning their cubes of high-grade on the table as they passed.

"Honestly, though, she's real sweet," Jazz confided in him as they settled down in their chairs. "A real softy at spark. She jus' puts on tough faceplates 'fore she heads in to work, and no bot knows better."

"A necessity when in the army, I would imagine," Prowl ruminated. "A mask is often one's best tool for survival."

"You say that from personal experience?" Jazz prodded.

"I do," Prowl admitted. "I was an Enforcer, and rare were orns when I _didn't_ use it."

"'Was'?" Jazz repeated curiously.

"Yes, from the time I received my adult frame until about three vorns ago," Prowl said. "Now, I work for Mira – Mirage!"

Suddenly struck with the reminder of his charge, Prowl leapt from his seat as though scalded, hastily looking back to where he had left the noble standing. He had migrated a little ways, but was still within Prowl's immediate view. As though sensing he was being watched, the noble looked Prowl's way. He adopted a stern look and made a sharp motion for Prowl to sit down. Prowl opened their private comm link to apologize, but Mirage transmitted before Prowl's CPU could even form a proper message.

"_You will sit down or I will fire you _again_!"_ came the sharp reprimand.

Prowl, surprised at the venom with which the message was sent, actually sat back down. Mirage's faceplates smoothed into a look of approval, and he went back to talking to his guest.

Jazz, who had witnessed the entire display (save the command; that, thankfully, had been internal), gave a little chuckle.

"You his nanny?" he asked.

"Bodyguard," Prowl grimaced.

"But equally as fun," Jazz postulated.

"Hm. Thank the Matrix I was fired earlier this orn."

"That bad, huh?" Jazz said in surprise. "I'd o' thought the perks woulda made up fer it."

"The perks are what's killing me," Prowl divulged. Jazz merely gave him an incredulous look, so he continued, "All I've known is the life of an Enforcer. My creators were both Enforcers. I grew up hearing the orn's criminal reports as recharge stories. It's a rough and gritty life, but they made it sound so heroic, so… honorable. I was only a sub-adult when they were killed, but I knew they had been deactivated protecting the innocents of my city. I decided then that's what I wanted to do. I can't very well do that from within this gilded cage."

Prowl looked down at his lap, not quite certain why he was spouting his inner-most thoughts and feelings to a complete stranger. He felt a little ashamed, but at the same time… oddly liberated. He was surprised to see a dark hand creep forward and grasp his own white one.

"I understand," Jazz said softly, lyrical voice full of sincerity. Prowl looked back at him, optics meeting visor.

"I know what it's like, tryin' t' live a life while trapped," he said. "Mine may not be as pretty as yers, but a cage is a cage."

Prowl did not know what to say. He sat there in silence for a breem, then two, contemplating what Jazz had said. In a strange way, it did make him feel better. If this wonderful, bright spark before him, so full of life, knew pains similar to what Prowl felt each orn and was still able to shine the way he did, was there not hope for him?

A small smile found its way onto Prowl's faceplates. The ex-Enforcer – now ex-bodyguard – stood, still holding Jazz's hand gently in his own.

"Come walk with me," he requested softly.

Nodding, Jazz stood.

* * *

Elita, while enjoying herself thoroughly, had made a point of keeping an optic on Jazz. It had proved to be a wise idea, as she and Optimus had been able to swoop in and distract the Seeker trine at one point when they had begun to wander to close to her surrogate son. Even now, as she danced with Optimus, she glanced over to where she'd last seen Jazz.

"Optimus!" she hissed, slapping at his chestplates to gain his attention.

"What is it?" he said quickly, sounding rather alarmed.

"It's… Jazz, he… _look!_" She pointed at Jazz's retreating back.

Optimus gave up all pretenses of dancing – he was horrible at it, really, and didn't know why Elita had insisted upon it – and turned. After some searching, he located Jazz. The youngling was headed out the open side doors that led out into the gardens.

But he was not alone. He was with another mech. And they were _holding hands._

"Good for him," Optimus rumbled.

"'Good for him'?!" Elita shrieked – quietly, as to not alarm anyone around them. "Go after him!"

"I doubt he needs pointers," Optimus responded calmly. "He is friends with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, after all."

"_Pointers!_" Elita sounded scandalized. "Optimus, we don't even know who that mech is!"

"What would you have me do?" he asked lightly. "Go up and ask for his credentials?"

"Oh, you --!" Elita threw her hands into the air.

"Or better yet," Optimus went on, "we can just sort his suitors out by height. 'You must be this tall to molest our adoptive creation'." He held his hand even with his shoulder.

"That's quite enough," Elita growled, not nearly as amused as her bonded was.

"Elita," Optimus said in pacification, taking her hands in his own massive ones. "Jazz is not the youngling we once knew him to be. He's grown up quite wonderfully, and has a good CPU on him."

"I know," Elita sighed. "I just wish he hadn't grown up so _fast_."

"I know," Optimus chuckled. He pulled his beautiful mate in and wrapped his arms around her in a hug, which she returned gratefully. Optimus simply held her for a moment before pulling away and smiling down at her cheekily. "After they're done using the gardens, do you want to go for a walk?"

"OH – !"

Elita stomped off.


	10. Chapter 10

Prowl led the way, twisting and turning through the unfamiliar paths of the gardens in a pattern known only to him. Little lanterns, softly glowing beacons in the dark of night, lined the sides of the paths, warning bots not to stray over the edge. The gentle light reflected off the tall pillars of crystal, the sleek metal sculptures, and the mech that strode with a sure pace before him.

They eventually came upon the center of the garden, a round outcropping surrounded by waist-high walls. Three paths other than the one they had taken branched from this center point. Four benches, bent to curve with the short walls they were pressed against, circled about a large fountain, an abstract piece of art that seemed to move and change shape in the flickering light.

Prowl gently pulled Jazz over to the nearest bench and sat down. Jazz followed suit, shivering minutely as the cold surface, as chill as the night air, touched his warm plating.

"I come here to think," Prowl said, so quietly Jazz almost didn't hear. "It's just far enough away from the Tower that I can pretend it doesn't exist. Listen."

Jazz did, his exceptional audios just barely picking up the sounds of the party in the distance. The music and chattering mechs and femmes, just a droning hum of noise out here, were almost completely covered by the falling of water in the fountain.

"'S beautiful out here," Jazz said, voice barely more than a whisper, not wanting to destroy the natural peace of the sanctuary they were in.

"That it is," Prowl agreed. He absently began rubbing circles on the back of Jazz's hand with his thumb. "I haven't been able to come out here for nearly a deca-cycle. The Towers have not rested in their preparations for this night."

Jazz suppressed a shiver. Prowl's voice, rich and filled with emotion, so different from his initial cool greeting, was intoxicating.

"Now that it has arrived, I can finally take the time I need to think. And I do have much to think on." He tore his optics from the fountain to focus instead on Jazz.

"Bein' fired is a big deal," Jazz agreed.

Prowl smiled wanly. "One might think so. But I know where I stand on that matter. I know no other life; I will become an Enforcer again."

"If that's what feels right," Jazz shrugged.

"It does," Prowl nodded.

Jazz, Prowl's intense gaze too much to bear, looked away, down at his hand, intertwined with his companion's. He became hypnotized by the thumb that was still moving in slow circles along the back of his hand. He blinked in surprise when that finally stopped.

The hand not currently employed by Jazz's own came up to finger curiously at Jazz's visor.

"Why do you wear this?" he inquired.

"'M blind," Jazz mumbled.

"Really?" Prowl sounded surprised.

"Just about," Jazz confirmed. "Caught a nasty virus when I was a sparkling. M' caretaker caught it quick, had it taken care of, but it'd already started attackin' my systems. Optics took the biggest hit; couldn't be repaired. Now, whenever I catch a bug, it always goes straight fer my weakest point. Takes a li'l bit of my sight wit' it ev'ry time."

"I'm sorry," Prowl said softly.

"'S a'ight," Jazz shrugged. "I'm used to it. An' I can see better'n most mechs with my visor."

"Does your hearing over-compensate for your loss of sight?" Prowl's curious fingers traveled from his visor to his cheek, then down his jaw line.

"Yeah." Jazz shivered as the wandering digits ghosted over his lip components. "M-my systems accept the hardware of the visor, but they still recognize a loss of original programming, so they amp up my audios."

"Curious," Prowl murmured, hand dropping from its exploration of Jazz's faceplates back to his lap. Jazz instantly missed its touch.

"Prowl…" The whine escaped his vocalizer before he could think to stop it.

Prowl, optics burning, slowly – ever so slowly – lifted the hand back to Jazz's faceplates, hovering almost hesitantly over his cheek before stroking him with a feather-light touch. His fingers trembled as they began anew to map out Jazz's contours, going over every detail with tender care.

Jazz shuttered his optics behind his visor, mouthplates falling open in a soft gasp, leaning into the hand that so softly was dragging him further and further away from coherency with its barely-there touches.

After ghosting one last time over his parted lip components, the hand moved to gently – _so_ gently – grasp the side of his helm, his other disengaging itself from Jazz's own black digits to mirror its twin. Jazz could hear the other mech shift slightly on the bench, sense him begin to lean towards him, _feel_ the warm air from his vents blowing softly over him. Jazz onlined his visor, fuel pump stuttering at the visual confirmation that Prowl was _so close_.

"Jazz…" Prowl breathed, whispering the name like a prayer, wringing a shudder from the mech.

"Mmm, Prowl!" Jazz whimpered. Begged. Pleaded.

Answering his call, Prowl closed the ever-dwindling gap between them and brought their lip components together in an electrifying kiss.


	11. Chapter 11

Notes: *cowers behind desk* Okay, before you start throwing bricks, just remember that this is not the end!

* * *

Prowl's lip components lingered in that kiss for a moment, then began to move against Jazz's, creating a delicious friction that had the smaller mech whimpering again. One white hand slid down to cup Jazz's neck, the other creeping upwards to finger at one of his black audio horns. Jazz shivered at the light caresses of those probing digits, then gasped against Prowl's mouth as they wrapped themselves around the horn's base.

Prowl's eager glossa slid between those parted lip components, filling Jazz's senses with his taste – the bite of the high-grade he'd consumed lingered, but he was sweet, _oh_ so sweet. His hands came up to grip Prowl's shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer, deepening the kiss. The fingers around his audio horn tightened, and he moaned at the heady rush of sensation that pulsed through him.

To Jazz's displeasure, the hand left his stubby horn to trail down helm, neck, and shoulder, and was soon fingering transformation seams along his sides and –

"Oop!" Jazz involuntarily jerked away.

"Hm?" Prowl pulled back, regarding him with dim indigo optics.

"Sorry, 's just…" Jazz gave a sheepish smile. "Ticklish."

The corner of Prowl's mouth twitched upwards. The hand hovering above his side found the same seam and stroked along its whole length, making Jazz squirm and wriggle in his hold.

"Stop that!" he laughed, reaching for Prowl's shoulder to push him away. He missed and latched onto one of his sensory panels instead.

"Uhn!" Prowl's optics flickered, and the hand that had been tickling his side a moment before was now desperately gripping at his hip plating. Curious at the instant reaction, Jazz released his hold on the wing and smoothed his hand across its flat surface.

Prowl shuddered, wrapping his arms tightly around Jazz's waist and burying his faceplates in the cabling of his neck. Jazz repeated the motion, then trailed a single digit along the top edge. Prowl gave a low growl, biting into the cabling he was pressed up against. Jazz gasped at the initial flash of pain, a sound that morphed into a hiss of pleasure as Prowl ran his glossa over the same area, soothing and stimulating all at once.

As Prowl continued to alternately nip and suckle at the cables and tubing in Jazz's neck, his hands forgot to attend to the sensory panels. The other mech didn't seem to notice, though. His own hands – oh, those hands! – were everywhere at once – stroking along the inside of Jazz's thigh, massaging the small of his back, ghosting over his audio horns, cradling his faceplates tenderly.

It was all so wonderful. It was all too much. It was not enough. Jazz panted and moaned, arching against the hands that so lovingly tended to his rapidly-heating body. Oh, how he wished he could respond in turn, bring the other some of the joy he was causing him, but he knew not where to begin.

Suddenly, a mouth was devouring his, glossa hungrily seeking out Jazz's own. Jazz, so new to all this, responded as best he could, but he was quickly losing coherency amid all this glorious, wonderful _sensation. _It was all he could do to simply grip tightly to a set of broad shoulders.

He heard a soft snap, and suddenly the cool night air was brushing against his faulty optics. The chill breeze was quickly replaced by hot, fervent kisses.

"Beautiful," a raspy voice murmured between each kiss. "So beautiful…"

_Beautiful?_ repeated his CPU hazily. _His optics? No, that wasn't right. Couldn't be right. What were they…? If only he could think straight…_

"—_glitched little fragger –"_

"—_good for nothing piece of—"_

"—_teach you a lesson –"_

"—_learn your place –"_

"—_worthless bumbling fool –"_

"— _glitching slagger –"_

"—_glitch of a drone –"_

"—_glitch –"_

"—_glitch –"_

"—_glitch –"_

"_Glitch!"_

_Thundercracker._

_Skywarp._

Starscream.

_No._

_No no no no no no –_

"NO!"

Jazz, not knowing how he got there, was on his peds, sheer panic making his entire frame tremble.

"Jazz?"

That voice. Oh, that voice, the way it said his name – _rolling it around in his mouth, savoring the sound –_

Prowl.

"I shouldn't be here," he muttered, more to himself than anything. "Not supposed to be here!"

"Jazz, I'm so sorry!

Sorry?_ "Sorry little glitch!"_

"I have to go," he gasped. "I can't let him find me here, no, no no no!"

Hands – _oh, those hands!_ – gripped his shoulders tightly.

"Who, Jazz?"

"_Starscream!"_ Jazz whispered. "I have to go, I have to go – please let me go!"

The hands immediately released him.

"Jazz, I'm sorry, I didn't –"

But he was already gone, sprinting down the path, letting the flickering lights guide him. Just keep running, don't look back, _run!_

By some miracle, Jazz made it out of the Towers gardens and onto the empty main street. _Still too close, he'll see – _he quickly transformed and sped away. He took a left, two rights, another left.

Systems screaming from the abuse, Jazz pulled into an alleyway and transformed. Legs shook beneath him, suddenly unable to hold his weight. He fell to his knees, intakes heaving. Air – he could not intake enough air, his systems were over-heating, his fuel pump was beating too fast, his energy levels were fluctuating wildly, his –

Chassis unable to withstand any more, Jazz purged his tanks violently. He doubled over in pain, heaving until nothing more came forth, and even a good while after.

All systems finally reaching normal parameters, Jazz crawled away from the stench and leaned against the wall of the ally, suddenly drained, both physically and mentally.

What had he done?

He'd lost control. He'd let his emotions get the better of him – his longing to attend the party, his excitement at defying Starscream's orders, and… something new. Something he had never felt before, elicited by a complete stranger. Something so completely wonderful and terrifying at the same time. Something that left him with a hollow ache in his spark, but whether the good kind of hurt or the bad, he could not tell.

_It doesn't matter,_ his CPU reasoned. _You'll never see him again. You weren't even supposed to meet. You were supposed to go to the party, stay long enough to satisfy your sick curiosity, and go home, where you belong. _

_You are an idiot – a fragging glitch! You left a mark! He knows your name, now. You can't take it back. You can never take it back!_

That terrified him. His life had been all about keeping secrets – don't let anyone know you're a glitch, don't let your friends know you are a slave in your own home, don't let them know how you hurt. Don't let anyone know.

_Sunstreaker and Sideswipe know,_ his CPU scorned._ You _told._ In a moment of weakness, you told them everything. And did it change anything? No. Their pity goes to waste. You will still be a glitch, you will still be a slave of your own household, and you will _always_ hurt._

Jazz did his best to push back the thought that he did not hurt when he'd been talking with Prowl, when he'd kissed him, when his hands had been –

No. _Stop, _he told himself.

As soon as he walked back through the front door, it would be as though this night had never happened. He would scuff up his paint, scrub at it until it was dull once more, hide the temporary repaint from Starscream and his brothers. He would finish his chores. He would hide in his berth until the next orn when his masters would call. He would act as though _nothing happened._

Using the wall of the building for support, Jazz stood, glad his knees no longer shook from the mere effort of standing. Squaring his shoulders resignedly, he went to take off his visor to wipe away his tears –

And was met with only the air.

His visor – the barely-used visor Optimus had spent so much on for him – was back in the Towers garden.

_Wonderful,_ he seethed. How was he to look Optimus in the optics ever again?

Going back was simply not an option, not even for this, another mark of his existence he had so carelessly left behind.

He pulled his old, well-worn visor from subspace and snapped it into place before transforming and heading for home.


	12. Chapter 12

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had a routine with Jazz. At the end of each orn, once the second sun had set and the Seekers had retreated to their berths, they would use Sideswipe's jetpack to fly up to Jazz's window and creep through. They would spend a joor or two with the smaller mech, talking, teaching him whatever new game they had picked up, or just visiting. The orn following the party was certainly no exception to their long-lived tradition. Anxious to hear about his exploits at the Towers, they snuck into his room a little earlier than usual. Jazz was not there.

Unconcerned, they settled onto his berth to wait for him. (They didn't worry about one of the Seekers catching them; they never had any reason to come into the black and white's room.) It wasn't long before they heard shuffling footsteps ascending the stairs, and not long after that that the door opened, revealing the expected form of their friend, though not at all in the expected state.

"Jazz, what _happened_?" Sideswipe cried, appalled and dismayed. Jazz gave them a weary look.

"Whaddya mean?" he asked dully, pausing at the threshold.

"Your _paint_, for one thing," Sunstreaker growled. "I spend all that time on you, and you look like you've been run through a trash compactor!"

"Couldn't let them see me like that," Jazz said simply, stepping into his room and allowing the door to shut behind him. "They'd-a known somethin' was up."

"So what?" Sideswipe challenged. "What's the worst they would've done? Hit you? They already do that, Jazz."

Jazz just shook his helm, releasing a weak sigh.

"No reason t' provoke 'em inna it."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared a look, expressing a sense of worry over their bond. Something was wrong. A weary Jazz they could understand; he often looked like he was recharging on his peds as he did now, a sign that he'd had a hard and tiring orn. A resigned Jazz, accepting of his status, while troubling, was also something they had grown accustomed to. But this Jazz was different. He seemed almost… _submissive._

"Jazz…" Sunstreaker began tentatively, "are you okay?"

"'M fine," Jazz intoned listlessly.

"You sure?" Sideswipe pressed. "You don't seem like yourself."

"What 'm I supposed t' be?" Jazz inquired wanly. "Happy?"

"No, I – I mean, _yes_, you –"

"'M fine, Siders," Jazz interrupted. "Jus' tired. Can I talk t' you guys later? I jus' wanna get some recharge…"

Reluctantly, the Twins rose from his berth and made to leave. Sideswipe paused briefly to hug Jazz. The smaller mech just stood there limply, not even acknowledging his proximity. The red mech quickly let go.

The visits following that short and unusual one were not much better. Jazz's weariness pursued, and it seemed to extend all the way to his CPU. He said less and less as the orns went by. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker grew more and more concerned. They were glad, though, that enough of the Jazz they knew was coherent enough to let them in, physically if not emotionally.

And then, one night, his window was locked.

Hurt and more than a little worried, they left, telling themselves that he was merely more tired than usual and had already gone to recharge. But the next night, they were met with the same locked window. And again the night after that. And the night after that. And the night after that.

Half a deca-cycle had passed, and they had neither seen nor heard from their friend. They panicked. And in their panic, they did something they had not yet dared to do, something that Jazz, were he himself, would never have forgiven them for.

They went to Optimus and Elita.

Not even waiting for the sun, they rushed to their home, pounded on the door, shouted for them to wake up, and rushed inside once the sleepy and confused Senator finally answered their calls, startling an equally befuddled Elita. They refused to be pacified, refused to follow orders to calm down, and started in on their rant, talking over one another in their rush.

They told them everything. Why they rarely saw Jazz. Why he always seemed a little distant. Why he always seemed to be hiding something. Why his paint was always scratched and dull. Why he always sported at least a few dents.

They were met with stoic looks. None of this surprised the Senator or his bonded. It did hurt to hear it put so bluntly, to have their suspicions verbally confirmed, but there was no surprise.

At last, the Twins fell silent, staring at Optimus and Elita helplessly. Hopelessly.

"Why," Optimus began in a gentle tone, "do you come to us now? What has changed?"

"Jazz, he –" Sideswipe choked. "We haven't seen him for _orns_."

"He locked his window," Sunstreaker finished.

"You can't _un_lock it?" Elita pressed.

"Well, of course we _can,"_ Sideswipe said derisively.

"The point is he locked it," Sunstreaker scowled. "He's _never_ done that before."

"I see," Optimus said pensively. He stared down at his laced hands for a moment before continuing, "You say he's been acting differently. How long?"

The Twins shared a look.

"Ever since he went to the Towers," Sunstreaker said.

"The orn after, we went to go see him," Sideswipe started.

"He was a wreck."

"Looked terrible."

"Acted worse."

"Like he'd just… given up."

They shared another look.

"He may not like his life," Sideswipe said tentatively.

"Who would?" Sunstreaker butted in brusquely.

"But for the most part," his red twin went on, "he was happy. The Jazz you see – it's not just a mask. That's the _real_ him."

"When he's away from those three slaggers," Sunstreaker added, "he can let that real him show. He can actually be happy… even if he is hiding things."

Optimus and Elita shared a look of their own. Pain filtered through their bond as a shared thought was processed.

"There's nothing we can do," Optimus said aloud.

This was not the right answer. Not for the Twins. They bristled in outrage.

"There's gotta be _something_ we can do!" Sideswipe shouted.

"Someone we could go to!" Sunstreaker growled.

"There is no one," Elita said firmly, cutting off further protests. "Jazz is of age. Unless he himself comes forth and admits discontent, the Seekers are free to go on living in his home."

"But what they're doing to him is _wrong!_" Sunstreaker said vehemently.

"There's gotta be some law," Sideswipe added. "Some law that –"

"Certainly there are laws," Optimus said gravely. "But we have no proof. Starscream and his brothers will deny any outright accusations. And if Jazz has gone this far to hide things, it's likely he will as well."

"So we sit on our afts and do nothing," Sunstreaker growled.

"No," Elita said, vocalizer crackling with emotion. "We pray to Primus something – or someone – will give Jazz the courage to change."


	13. Chapter 13

Notes: Phew! So, obviously, if one were to base it off the length of time between the last update and this one, I've been dealing with a little writer's block. Not to worry, it's over... for now.

The writer's block has brought me to a very painful realization, however: I need a beta. Someone I can bounce ideas off of, to further prevent these long, update-less lapses. If anyone's interested in fixing all my structural and spelling mistakes and all the good things that come with being a beta -- or even just being an IM buddy that I can chat with about plot and such -- let me know. Please and thanks!

* * *

Prowl tried not to think about him. Tried not to think about how easily he had opened up to him. Tried not to think about how quickly he had felt at ease with him. Tried not to think about how right it had seemed, holding his hand in his own. Tried not to think about his lips and how they had felt against his, how sweet he had tasted. Tried not to think about how wonderful it had been to have him moaning and writhing under his touch.

Tried, and failed miserably.

He thought of little else but Jazz.

Sweet, wonderful Jazz, whom he had driven away.

Prowl, unable to stop the feed playing in his CPU, had analyzed that fateful night nearly a deca-cycle ago a hundred times over, and he kept coming to the same conclusion.

He, Prowl, was an idiot.

Why had he done it? Why, like some emotional sub-adult with no self restraint, had he dared to go so far? Obviously he'd imagined that connection, that sense of instant familiarity he'd felt with him. Jazz hadn't felt it, if his horrified reaction to Prowl's advancements was anything to go by. No doubt he assumed Prowl was using him, like some cheap pleasure drone.

Prowl felt a surge of guilt at that thought. The thought of causing Jazz – kind, brilliant, beautiful Jazz – any kind of upset tore at him. And this, possibly the worst thing he could have done, made him feel like a monster. How he longed for just a moment more with him, just to apologize. Just to say how deeply he regretted his actions. He owed him at least that much.

But even if Prowl was able to find him, would Jazz even want to see him? Would he be willing to accept his apology? Or would he simply turn him away? Prowl was afraid of this thought, the thought that he would forever remain unforgiven by the mech that had so quickly enamored him like none before had. That fear left him waffling indecisively.

What was he to do?

* * *

Unbeknownst to the ex-Enforcer, Hound and Mirage were wondering the exact same thing. They had observed the mech over the past deca-cycle with increasing worry.

"He was a miserable wretch before," Mirage commented quietly to his Intended, "but ever since the party, he's become so… so… oh, there just aren't words!"

Hound could think of a few, but none of them pleasant descriptions to be fitting with a friend. He wrapped an arm about his mate, a gesture meant to comfort the distraught noble, who was taking the emotional decline of his bodyguard and good friend as a hard, personal blow.

"He hasn't said so much as three words to me since," Mirage went on. "He refuses to refuel unless I practically force him, and I doubt he's been recharging much, if at all."

"Seems that way, by the look of him," Hound agreed grimly.

They stood one corner of the library, pretending to look for a holonovel while they observed Prowl. They need not have put up a façade for all the mech noticed. He was immune to the world, sitting slumped in a large chair in one of the reading nooks, optics dim and sensory panels drooped. In his hand, he held an optic band. He turned it over and over in his fingers, as if searching for something upon its surface. And yet, after orns of doing this, he still did not seem to have found what he was looking for.

"It's that mech," Mirage murmured, leaning sadly against his Intended. "That's why he's so depressed."

"What happened between them?" Hound inquired.

"I don't know," Mirage admitted softly. Then, after a moment of silence, he straightened himself and said, "But I intend to find out."

With that, he marched over to where the black and white sat, Hound trailing curiously behind him. Prowl did not notice their approach. He sat inert, only part of him moving the hand that continued to finger and toy with the visor. Mirage made a soft noise, announce their presence. Prowl sluggishly tilted his helm upwards to look at them, optics blank and lifeless.

"Prowl…" Mirage's vocalizer quavered slightly. Hound reached out and took his hand in his own. "What happened?"

The ex-Enforcer did not need clarification to know what his employer was talking about. He looked back down to the optic band in his hand. Turned it over. Fingered the edge.

"Something that shouldn't have," he murmured softly after a heavy moment of silence.

"Surely whatever it is can be remedied," Mirage insisted gently. "All hope can't be lost."

Prowl said nothing. The hand tightened around the visor, threatening to crack the glass.

"Prowl, you can't – you can't just give up!" Mirage cried desperately. "I have never before seen you so… so taken with someone as you were with this mech. You knew him all of five astroseconds and you were captivated beyond belief. You came alive when you talked to him. I watched you – I've never seen you like that before. This mech brought you to life. This mech –"

"Jazz."

The utterance was so quiet, the pair almost missed it.

"What?" Mirage queried.

"His name," Prowl repeated softly, painfully, "is Jazz."

Mirage and Hound shared a look. Their linked hands tightened.

"Jazz," Mirage said gently, "gave you in two breems what I have not been able to provide for three vorns: happiness. I don't know what has conspired between you two to force that away, but do you not think it is worth an attempt to regain?"

Prowl was quiet. For a long time, it seemed as though he had not even heard Mirage's spark-felt speech. Then, meekly, he raised his optics to look up at his friend.

"I wouldn't even know where to find him," he said waveringly.

"That's his optic band. Do you know if it's supplementary additions or his fundamental sight source?" Hound inquired.

"The latter," Prowl elucidated.

"Good," Hound said firmly. "There are only a few places, three at the most, that specialize in that – it's a different type of technology and takes an expert. We can check them out, find out where it came from, and trace it back to Jazz."

At this, something sprang up in Prowl's optics that gave Hound and Mirage a surge of relief: hope.

* * *

As it turned out, there were only two shops that specialized in the type of technology that made up Jazz's visor. They tried the first one, the owner and technician instantly recognizing his competition's work. A bit sour at first that he had "once again been robbed of business by that little glitch", he nonetheless politely pointed them in the right direction. They found the shop, a very little building, and the owner, an even smaller mech, without any trouble.

"Yes, yes, I recognize this," the second shopkeeper said upon the revealing of the visor. He jumped up onto a stool behind the – to him – tall counter and accepted the visor, turning in over in his small hands. "Fine work, if I do say so myself. Added a few extras onto this one, at the request of the buyer. Infrared, thermal imaging, the whole bag of tricks. Mech who bought it really worked me to my circuits, though. Came in with the order not two deca-cycles ago and wanted it just one later. 'In time for the Towers event', he said. Barely finished in time."

"Could you tell us where to find the mech who purchased it?" Mirage requested genially.

"Ah," the technician said, waving a finger back and forth. "There I don't think I can help you. He wanted it to be discrete, for some reason, and I'm inclined to respect his wishes."

"Please." Prowl's optics burned brightly as he stared anxiously at the shopkeeper. "Please, I need to find the mech this belongs to."

The shop owner paused. He stared up at Prowl, who stared unwaveringly back. A small, knowing smile crept onto the faceplates of the little technician.

"Ah," he said again. "I see." He handed the visor back to Prowl, saying, "I can't tell you who it was meant for, I'm afraid, but I sold it to Senator Optimus."

* * *

Prowl, alone, strode up the front path to the home of Senator Optimus and Commander Elita One. He had thanked Hound and Mirage for all their help in getting him this far, but insisted he continue on alone. (Mirage had given him a dubious look, but remained silent, letting his Intended encourage him on.)

He paused at the door, hand hovering over the chime. He was close, so close to finding Jazz. Just one step further.

Swallowing his fear, he pressed the chime. He faintly heard its lyrical ring from within the home. Then footsteps. The door opened. Optimus stood before him.

"Senator Optimus," he said in greeting. "I'm sorry to bother you at this late joor but… I need your help."


	14. Chapter 14

Notes: Thank you to all of you who reviewed, and an even bigger thank you to those of you that offered up your services as a beta. My new editor is The lunatic who cares, and I can't thank her enough for what she's already done for me. I've got so much planned for her... muahaha! *rubs hands together in an evil, calculating manner*

* * *

Ever since Jazz had taken to locking his window, keeping Sunstreaker and Sideswipe out, the Twins had been spending their evenings at the home of Optimus and Elita. At first they discussed Jazz, tried to come up with a solution, an idea – anything – to help their mutual friend, but as the orns passed and it became more and more apparent that the situation was quite hopeless, conversations petered out, ending soon after they were begun. After a point, they just stopped talking all together, spending the evenings sitting in mournful silence. On one such evening, an unexpected visitor called upon the Senator's home.

"I'll get it," Optimus rumbled, rising from his seat to answer the call of the door chime. Elita was unable to tend to their guest herself, as she had Sideswipe leaning on her shoulder and Sunstreaker's head resting in her lap. She looked up at her mate as he walked by, giving him a small smile, then went back to rubbing Sunstreaker's side vents soothingly.

A smooth voice could be heard coming from the direction of the front door, but the threesome was too far away to hear the words spoken. Optimus rumbled a reply. The cool voice of their visitor responded in turn. More words were exchanged by both parties. After a while, there came the faint swish of the door being closed again, and footsteps – not one pair, but two – began the trek to the living room where Elita, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker, sitting up, waited curiously.

Optimus came into view, stepping into the room and to the side, revealing their visitor, a black and white chevroned mech with sensory panels held high behind him. Elita stared at him for a curious moment, wondering where she could place those faceplates, those sensory panels, that familiar paintjob. She turned to her mate for an explanation, or an introduction at the very least, and was surprised to see the look of slight antagonism on his faceplates.

"Elita, this is Prowl," Optimus said tightly, gesturing to the black and white mech, whose sensory panels twitched minutely. "We met him briefly at the Towers party."

Elita's lip components formed a small 'o' in recognition. This had been the mech. The one that had engaged Jazz in a conversation at the party. The one that had taken her adoptive creation out into the gardens and done Primus knew what to him. The one that was no doubt responsible for the state Jazz was in now.

"You've got some nerve," she growled, faceplates contorting into a look of absolute loathing. "What do you think you are doing here?"

Prowl at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself. Sensory panels drooping, he could not look the femme commander in the optic.

"I'm looking for Jazz," he said quietly, wringing his hands together.

"Why?" Sunstreaker demanded defensively, glaring at the mech.

"I…" The mech faltered briefly, looking from one set of angry faceplates to another. "I wish to apologize to him."

"Apologize to hi—" Sideswipe stopped short, looking to Elita questioningly. "Is this the mech?"

Elita nodded curtly. Sideswipe was on his pedes in an instant, looking murderous, but Sunstreaker was quicker. Crossing the room in two steps, he swung his arm back and punched the black and white mech with all his might, sending him flying to the floor.

"Sunstreaker!" Optimus reprimanded him sharply. "Not in my house!"

"Then we'll drag him outside," Sideswipe snarled defiantly. "I can't even begin to imagine why you let him in to start with! You got a screw loose?"

"Enough," Elita said firmly, standing and throwing her arm out in front of the red twin's chestplates, keeping him from advancing on Prowl. She glared sternly at the mech, who was quietly picking himself up off her sitting room floor. "I want to hear what he has to say for himself."

"As do I," Optimus concurred. "An explanation of just what went on in the gardens, as a start, would be nice."

Prowl looked confused.

"Jazz didn't… didn't tell you?" he queried hesitantly, glancing from Optimus to Elita for confirmation.

"Jazz hasn't told us slag for more than a deca-cycle," Sideswipe growled menacingly, "much less what you did to him!"

Sunstreaker was looking very much like he wanted to punch him again. Elita shot him a warning look. His scowl deepened. He started pacing the length of the small room, snarling every time he turned and Prowl was once more brought into his view.

"All we know," Elita said crisply, "is that he left the Tower headed for the gardens with you. After that, he disappeared. Neither Optimus nor I have seen him since. The Twins have, briefly, and they can attest to his distressed mental state. He has since shut them out and refused to speak to them. No one knows what state he is in now, but if what he was like a deca-cycle ago is anything to go by, it'll be nothing good."

Prowl stared with wide optics, aghast. His sensory panels drooped ever lower, jerking and trembling in apparent distress. Lip components parted to speak, but he could not find the words. He simply stood there, shocked to the core. Shaking hands came up to cover his faceplates, and he murmured into them, so quietly Elita could barely hear, "Dear Primus, what have I done?"

The femme commander was struck by the apparent remorse the mech felt. He barely knew Jazz, and yet she could tell he was sincerely distraught at having caused him so much pain. A piece of her anger was chiseled away, leaving room for just the slightest amount of pity for the mech before her to filter in. The Twins were feeling no such sentiment.

"Yes, what _have_ you done," Sideswipe said scathingly.

"Do tell us," Sunstreaker added, still pacing off his furious energy.

Prowl's hands came away from his faceplates and clenched themselves into trembling fists at his sides. He shuttered his optics tightly for a brief moment, then opened them, staring at a spot on the wall, unable to look at anyone.

"We introduced ourselves and began talking in the Tower," he began slowly, voice trembling ever so slightly. "Trivial talk – he doesn't like high-grade, I don't like parties, a sentiment shared by the Senator, that --" He paused, sparing Elita a glance. "That you make the best energon goodies and you are very sweet, a – oh, what did he call you? – a 'softy at spark'."

Elita felt a brief surge of affection for Jazz. She nodded for Prowl to continue.

"It evolved into something… something very personal for me." He stared down at his pedes. "I do not know why I opened up to him, but he was so… so very understanding. On a personal level. He _knew_ what I felt. Felt it himself. It was after this mutual understanding that we went into the gardens." He began fidgeting with his hands, then, as if realizing what he was doing, let them fall back to his sides. "We continued talking."

"About what?" Elita prodded, trying to get more than a vague answer, an idea as to what would upset her Jazz.

"I asked him why he wore his visor," Prowl shrugged.

"And what did he say?" Optimus asked inquisitively. Sideswipe perked up, curious in spite of himself.

"That he was nearly blind, and –"

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up," Sunstreaker growled, finally stopping his angry pacing to stare at Prowl incredulously. "You're telling me Jazz actually _told you_ _he was blind_?"

"Yes," Prowl frowned. He looked between bots, searching for a reason for their surprise, but was met with nothing but a stunned silence from all. Elita regained her bearings first and explained.

"Optimus and I have known him nearly his whole life," she said gently, "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker even longer, and we did not find out about his glitch until just a few vorns ago."

"And that was by _accident,_" Sideswipe put in bitterly. "He never said a word about it to us. The fact that he would tell _you _is –"

"Ridiculous," Sunstreaker snorted. "What makes you so special?"

Elita had a faint idea, but said nothing other than, "What else happened in the gardens?"

"We…" Prowl stared down at his pedes. "We kissed. And…" He looked back at Elita, optics filled with pain, words becoming a bit frantic. "I did not intend for things to go so far, they simply… got out of control. I _never_ wished to –"

"Just how far did it go?" Optimus interrupted sternly, placing a hand on Prowl's shoulder. The mech flinched as if struck.

"We didn't – no, we…" He stumbled over his words in his haste to assure Jazz's honor. "I would never have taken advantage of him. But we…"

"Went far enough," Optimus supplied.

"Enough for me to upset him, quite immensely, as it would seem," Prowl nodded miserably. He stared up at Optimus beseechingly. "Please… please, allow me to see him again, to apologize for my actions."

"I don't think so," Sideswipe cut in nastily. "You've done enough damage."

"The last thing we're going to do is take you to him," Sunstreaker supplemented.

"I'll take him," Elita said quite suddenly.

All optics turned to the femme commander, showing great surprise, anger, and betrayal.

"Elita," Optimus began gently. "Do you really think that a _wise _idea, to –"

"Yes," she said firmly. "I do."

Something had been nagging at the femme, and it had not been until that point that she recognized it for what it was. She had observed the black and white mech's behavior, taken in his level of remorse in comparison to how long he had known Jazz. Taken into consideration the fact that he was seeking to take accountability for his actions. Taken the fact that he hadn't even tried to defend himself against Sunstreaker's attack, but accepted it like he deserved it for what he'd done. He clearly cared for Jazz. Cared very deeply for him.

"You love him," she said aloud, optics locked with Prowl's.

Prowl was momentarily stunned at the Commander's words. Mouthplates falling open, he shook his head.

"No," he said hesitantly. "No, that's – that's not possi – I barely know him…"

"And yet you love him enough to seek him out after doing him wrong, to fix things," Elita said.

Prowl's optics were wide, betraying a myriad of emotions – fear, surprise, confusion, _hope._

"How could I fall in love him so instantaneously?" he asked meekly, sensory panels twitching.

"It's not hard," Elita said kindly. "We did." She glanced at Optimus, sharing with him a small smile, before looking back to Prowl. "You love him."

He stared at the floor for a long moment, silent and absolutely still, an internal battle raging. Elita could hear his inners walls crumbling. Finally, he raised his head. A single tear ran down his cheekplate.

"I love him," he whispered.

No one moved, the undercurrent of hope in the air rendering them all speechless and immobile. It was Elita that broke the calm.

"Well," she said matter-of-factly. "This changes everything.


	15. Chapter 15

Notes: Thanks again to my reviewers. I wuv you! And a big fat mucho thanks to my Lunatic of a beta -- without you, this _would_ have been fail.

* * *

Starscream and his brothers were idling about the sitting room, waiting for the Glitch to bring them their energon, when the melodic sound of the door chime rang through the house.

"Skywarp, go see who it is," the red and white Seeker ordered.

"No way!" Skywarp protested. "You get off your lazy aft and go see who it is yourself!"

"Don't you dare presume to talk to me that way!" Starscream snarled, leaping from his seat and marching over to his brother to hover over him threateningly. "_I_ am the head of this household, _I _am the one who is to give orders, and –"

"And _you_ are already on your pedes," Skywarp deadpanned, unimpressed by his elder brother's attempt to display his superiority. "All you have to do now is walk to the door."

"Why, you insolent little –" Starscream was cut off by the sound of the chime being rung once more. He gave an irritated growl. "I'll deal with you in a moment," he sneered, giving the purple Seeker a good whack upside the helm for good measure before turning on his heel and marching out of the room. He did his best to smooth away the irate look on his faceplates before he opened the front door, revealing their unanticipated guest.

"Senator Optimus," Starscream greeted obsequiously. He glanced beyond the towering senator at the unfamiliar black and white mech that stood just behind him. The mech stared dispassionately back. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"I have something I must discuss with you," Optimus responded vaguely, not bothering to introduce the impassive mech in his company. "May we come in?"

"Of course," Starscream agreed, stepping to one side to allow the pair of mechs to pass through the door, arm sweeping outwards in a grandiose gesture and closing it behind them once they were inside. Unable to shake a slight feeling of disquiet, he told the Senator in his best diplomatic voice, "I can honestly say I am not certain as to why you are here. What is this concerning?"

Sensory panels flaring into a high 'v' behind him, the black and white mech showed his first ounce of emotion, handsome faceplates creasing into a deep frown as he answered simply, "Jazz."

* * * * *

Jazz was in the midst of setting out a trio of cubes for the Seekers' energon when he heard the door chime. He hesitated for a moment, knowing he would be expected to greet whomever it was that had come to visit, but knowing just as well that Starscream would not take kindly to having his refueling deferred. Deciding he would much rather keep their caller waiting – they were less likely to clout him for the delay – he picked up the large container of energon and transferred some of its contents into the smaller drinking cubes. The chime sounded again.

With a weary sigh through his vents, he placed the decanter back in the cupboard and picked up the tray of cubes. Carefully balancing it in his hands, he made for the door – not the one that lead to the hall that would take him to the front sitting room where the Seekers were gathered, but to the one that entered into the grand foyer. The impatience of the guest was apparent, so he resigned himself to making a pit stop at the door. Hopefully he could send whoever it was away quickly and continue on his way to the –

Jazz's CPU jerked to a halt at the sight that was before him. Starscream had already taken it upon himself to answer the door, and was standing with Optimus, but his focus was not on Starscream's look of anxiety, nor his friend's stern glare. It was on the mech that was positioned between them, standing tall and proud, beautiful sensory panels swept dramatically back, a mech he had not dared to dream of ever seeing again.

_Prowl._

The tray fell from his numb hands, tumbling to the floor with a great clatter, energon splashing across the checkerboard tiles. The noise drew the attention of the three mechs gathered by the door. Jazz's spark pulsed wildly in its casing as Prowl's optics locked with his. A strangled sob escaped his vocalizer. He stumbled backwards for the safety of the kitchen, just about to turn and run when Prowl's smooth voice called out to him.

"Jazz, wait!"

At the same time Starscream screeched, "You idiot! How could you do that in front of the senator!"

To Jazz's horror, his body obeyed Prowl's command, freezing in place. He stood there trembling, Starscream's grating voice making it worse, as Prowl sprinted the short distance between them to place himself directly before Jazz. He stared down at the shorter mech with a fiery intensity in his optics that only made Jazz tremble more.

"Jazz, I –" His vocalizer faltered briefly. White hands came out to grasp gently at his black ones and bring them up to chest level. Jazz shivered at the touch. "Jazz, I came here to apologize to you."

Jazz blinked behind his visor. His CPU slowly began processing again.

"Apologize?" he repeated.

"Yes." Prowl's voice was low and fervent, and his optics never left Jazz's as they seemed to peer right through his visor. "I am so sorry for my actions that night a deca-cycle ago. I never wished to cause you any upset."

"Sorry?" Jazz squeaked, pulling his hands out of Prowl's loose grasp in surprise. "Yer so-sorry?" Bordering on hysterical from the multitude of emotions surging through him, Jazz gave a choked cross between a sob and a laugh.

"So very much so," Prowl replied softly, arms falling limply to his sides. The intensity of his gaze lessened, giving room for a trace of hurt to filter through. "I did not mean to cause you such pain. Please forgive me for –"

This time Jazz really did laugh. It was a bleak, sickly sound, the humor behind it dark. The pain in Prowl's optics increased, and his sensory panels drooped down ever so slightly.

"Prowl," Jazz said with a shake of his head, "what the frag do _you _have to be sorry 'bout?"

Hurt turning to confusion, Prowl stammered, "I – I forced you to –"

"To what?" Jazz demanded. "To talk to ya? Socialize? Actually have a good time for once in my life?"

"What are you talking about?" Starscream interrupted, having been listening intently. "A deca-cycle ago… You went to the Towers didn't you? Why, you little glitch! I told you --" Starscream abruptly stopped when Optimus shifted on his feet and he seemed to realize what he'd been about to say. "Er… I told you that… you…"

"Perhaps," Optimus rumbled, optics never leaving Prowl and Jazz, "you would feel better talking alone."

Meekly, suddenly not caring that Starscream could see, he reached out to take back one of Prowl's hands, and led him back through the door he had come through, into the kitchen. Once there, he didn't let go of Prowl's hand, but turned to face him and, never breaking optic contact, he assured him, "You ain't done nothin' wrong."

Prowl frowned as he said, "A fact left open to interpretation at your sudden departure."

Here Jazz did look away, staring down at his pedes as the guilt that had been festering inside him for more than a deca-cycle flared to life, along with the thoughts and emotions that had forced him away from Prowl – sweet, wonderful Prowl – in the first place.

"And only exacerbated," Prowl continued gently, "by your sudden self alienation from your friends. They have informed me of your emotional decline over this past deca-cycle. Tell me that what conspired between us was not the cause of this grief you have been experiencing."

"No!" Jazz cried, optics shuttering tightly behind his visor. "It wasn't you – could never be you!"

A firm but gentle finger rested beneath his chin, guiding his helm up. Jazz obligingly opened his optics, meeting Prowl's burning gaze once more.

"Then tell me what was," he whispered fervently.

Fear besieged him – fear of what speaking it aloud would bring, fear of what Prowl was asking him to admit after so many vorns of keeping silent, fear of not being understood. Shuddering at the wake of cold it left him with, Jazz shook his head violently.

"No," he moaned. "I can't… I _can't._ No, don't…"

"Jazz." Prowl took a step forward, bringing them closer together. His hands came up to gently grip either side of Jazz's helm, forcing the smaller mech to look at him. "Jazz, if you care for me… if you have _ever_ cared for me, you will tell me."

Coolant tears pricked at Jazz's optics. His CPU was racing. He couldn't tell – he wasn't supposed to tell! But Prowl's words, so filled with emotion, with a longing that Jazz echoed, bashed relentlessly against his defenses. He _did_ care for him. Oh, how he cared for him! But did Prowl care back? His spark told him yes; the voices in his CPU, sounding so much like the Seekers, screamed no. How could he? How could he love a glitch? How could he love a pathetic, weak little slave like him? The voices were so over-powering, forcing Jazz to retreat – but Prowl's voice pulled him back.

"Jazz," he murmured. "Please."

"I'm stuck, Prowl," he sobbed, tears streaming from beneath his visor and down his cheekplates. "I'm stuck in this cage, an' I can't get out. I can' han'le it anymore!"

"Do you want out, Jazz?" Prowl asked, optics bright and piercing. Jazz gave an incoherent wail of distress. "Jazz, you have to say it," Prowl insisted fervently. "You have to tell me. Tell me what you want."

Jazz's intakes gave a hiccup of surprise. What he wanted?

"You," he choked, hands coming up to desperately latch on to Prowl's wrists. "I want you!"

Prowl shuttered his optics, lip components parting to release a soft gasp. After a heavy moment of silence, he opened his optics once more, and Jazz's spark leapt at care and warmth he could see in them. Hands still guiding Jazz's helm, Prowl brought their foreplates together intimately.

"Oh, Jazz," he breathed. "I'm already yours."

With a cry of joy and relief, Jazz threw his arms about Prowl's neck, hugging him tightly. Prowl's arms willingly wrapped around his shaking frame, returning the gesture with verve, faceplates burying themselves in Jazz's neck. They stayed like that for an immeasurable moment, neither desiring to release their hold on one another. After a time, when Jazz's sobs had begun to subside and his trembling frame stilled, Prowl broke the bond, loosening his arms and making as if to pull away.

"I have something that belongs to you," he whispered into Jazz's audio. Curious, Jazz reluctantly loosened his grasp on Prowl, though he refused to fully let go, as if afraid he might slip away if he did. He gave Prowl just enough room to reach into his subspace and pull out a small, shining item.

"You left this behind," Prowl smiled down at him. "I thought I should return it to you."

Jazz gave a small, watery laugh as he looked down and saw his new visor sitting in Prowl's palm.

"All this trouble jus' ta return it?" he joked weakly. "Seems a bit much."

"Well, I won't deny the ulterior motives." Prowl's smile widened. His free hand came up to finger the chipped and worn visor Jazz wore. "May I?"

Jazz nodded. Prowl carefully unclipped the visor from its catches and let it tumble unceremoniously to the floor. Instead of immediately replacing it, he leaned forward, tenderly kissing away the remnants of tears that lingered on Jazz's faulty optics.

"Beautiful," he murmured between kisses. "So beautiful…"

Jazz was instantly taken back to that night so long ago, where he sat wrapped up in Prowl in the gardens of the Towers, where those same words were first spoken. He felt a surge of love and longing for the mech in his arms, the same feelings he had felt as they has first begun their exploration of one another. The only thing absent this time around was the multitude of voices. It seemed at last they were quiet, silenced by Prowl's love.

Gentle lip components captured his own, holding them in a brief kiss before pulling away. The new visor was snapped into place, bringing Prowl back into view. He was still smiling down at him, optics still full of love. Jazz nearly started crying again, this time from joy. There was only one last thing to be done.

"I wan' out, Prowl," he whispered. "I don' wanna hurt anymore. Please, please – jus' make it all go away."

"And we can," Prowl assured him gently, leading him back out to the foyer, where he nodded at Optimus, who was still standing in the same place, with a fidgeting Starscream. The Seeker looked torn between being cross, defiant, and fearful. "Tell Optimus what you told me."

Jazz looked up at the senator to see he was smiled encouragingly at him.

"All you've ever had to do was ask, Jazz."

Jazz nodded.

"I wan' this ta go away…"

"If Jazz is displeased with his life here," Starscream started before his voice quavered under the stern stare of the Senator, "then he is free to leave. I wouldn't presume to –"

"No," Jazz said suddenly, grip tightening on Prowl's hand, an anchor from which he drew strength. His voice was surprisingly steady as he repeated, "No. This is _my _creator's house! This is _my _home. And _you _–" he gave the Seeker a hateful look "—you are not welcome here."

"I believe," Optimus said gravely to Starscream, "that we need to have that little discussion now."


	16. Chapter 16

That very orn, Jazz left his home with Prowl and Optimus flanking him on either side, not intending to return until he had found a way to do as Optimus so threatened Starscream they would and remove the Seeker trine from Jazz's home and life. It proved to be easier to eject them than anyone had projected. Optimus's high standing had allowed them to cut through a lot of red tape, and they were soon granted access to the city's data records. All it took was a few orns of searching to find the information they needed: the official will of Jazz's creators. It showed that his sire had left a small number of credits to the Seeker's creator in thanks for her services as an aid to him in his last orns and caretaker to his sparkling, but the bulk of his estate, including the house, was left to Jazz. The estate was meant to be handled by the femme until Jazz came of age, but when she had deactivated before that time came, her three creations had all too willingly stepped in and taken advantage of the situation.

With the proof of his ownership in hand, not even a full deca-cycle later, Jazz returned to his home, escorted by Prowl and two Enforcers, and ordered the Seeker trine out of his house. Starscream, fury just barely contained, had tersely insisted upon Jazz allowing them an orn to collect their belongings, and then they would be on their way. Jazz, with ill-disguised satisfaction, denied the Seeker his request. According to the document he held, the house and all items within it upon the time of his creator's deactivation belonged to him, and as the Seekers could not prove which affects had been brought into the home after that, they legally could remove nothing without Jazz's permission.

It was at that point that the precaution of bringing along a pair of Enforcers became a necessity. Absolutely enraged at being stripped of his possessions, Starscream lost all manifestation of self control and lunged at Jazz with an unholy shriek of fury. One of the Enforcers managed to tackle the livid Seeker to the ground before he could actually touch Jazz, holding him down as his partner forced him into a pair of energy cuffs. Starscream bucked and thrashed against his bonds and captors, screaming deactivation threats to Jazz, Prowl, and even Senator Optimus at the highest level of his screechy vocalizer. He was half carried, half dragged out of the house by one of the Enforcers while the other escorted Thundercracker and Skywarp, who were, fortunately, choosing to go quietly, if not unhappily.

Jazz was elated to see them go, practically quivering with barely contained glee as he watched all five mechs troop through the door. It had barely shut behind them when he let out a whoop of joy. Letting his creator's will and deed to the house fall to the ground, he flung himself at Prowl, kissing him with a passionate force. Taken by surprise, the taller black and white was knocked off balance and the two went the same way as the datapads, tumbling to the foyer floor in a tangle of limbs, lip components still connected in a crushing kiss.

"They're gone," Jazz whispered as he pulled away a moment later, voice quivering from the overwhelming happiness that fact caused. "They're gone, an' I don' ever have ta see 'em again!"

"Well, that's not entirely true," Prowl informed him. "No doubt, after Starscream's little come-apart, the Enforcers will suggest you press charges or, at the very least, set up restraining orders, and you will both have to attend the formal meetings those things entail, so –"

"You always gonna spoil good moods like this?" Jazz cut him off, trying to look exasperated, but unable to really pull it off due to the large grin that would not entirely go away. Prowl smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Over-active logic processor."

"Well, tha's fixable," Jazz murmured, voice a sultry purr. He wriggled against his partner. "Already know how t' freeze it up an' everything…"

"Jazz…" Prowl barely resisted groaning his name, which would have been very detrimental indeed, making it sound as an encouragement rather than the warning it was.

They were yet to actually interface. Prowl, still feeling rather guilty for having allowed things to go too far their first meeting, despite Jazz's reassurances that it had not been forced upon him, wanted to take things slowly. Jazz reluctantly allowed this, mostly because he had never before treaded the waters of an intimate relationship and did not know how to move things along himself. He was learning quickly, though, and had driven Prowl to the point of arousal where his logic processor did indeed freeze up on him several times already. (That was usually the point where Prowl would cut things off, knowing he would have limited control much beyond then.)

Jazz smiled down at his almost lover, kissing him gently once more, before gracefully pushing himself to his pedes. He held out a hand to Prowl, who took it and pulled himself upright.

"Le's go see what we can sell back t' those fly-mechs," Jazz said, linking his arm with Prowl's and heading for the stairs. "Screamer's got a lotta stuff in his lab I'm sure he wants back…"

The red and white flyer did indeed want the contents of his lab back. It was he who contacted Jazz first – through a messenger, as the restraining orders had been set up by that point – asking what it would take to obtain them. Jazz answered with a price list, each item documented with a rather hefty number of credits attached. It no doubt hurt Starscream's already scalded pride to do so, rubbing cosmic rust into the wound, but he did end up purchasing back much of what was once his. Thundercracker and Skywarp did the same with a few personal effects. Jazz walked away from the exchange the obvious winner, extorting a ridiculous sum of credits from the three of them. Neither he nor Prowl was sure how they paid for it, though, as they no longer had access to the accounts attached to the house.

"He's an aft, but he is smart," Jazz commented off-handedly. "Prob'ly had another account set up fer all he was earnin' from the science department he works for."

While that was the case, he and his brothers had still taken to ravaging the house accounts. The current numbers did not match up with what the will stated was to be left to Jazz. As there was proof that it had been the Seekers that were the ones responsible for the discrepancy, Jazz filed a formal complaint against them and it was ruled in his favor – the trio of brothers would be required to replace the credits that were missing from the account. (This was after Jazz had already sold them back all their belongings. Starscream's rage could be heard all through the litigations building as the verdict was read.)

It took a few strenuous deca-cycles for all the formal business to be completed and official documents to be filed, but in the end the time seemed to have flown by. A few deca-cycles, and Jazz was a free mech, the owner of his own house, with an impressively substantial bank account to support him. That was not even mentioning, of course, the loving partner that stood by his side through the whole ordeal. (Though Prowl had been rather busy himself, somewhere along the journey having been reinstated as an Enforcer, something Mirage was only too willing to aid in.)

Once things had at last settled down, Jazz had turned his attentions to ridding the house – _his _house – of all presence of the Seekers. Everything in the house, whether his own belongings or things the Seekers had not purchased back, was trashed. Nothing, not even furniture, remained. For a few orns, the house was entirely barren. Jazz spent those orns thoroughly scrubbing down every floor, every wall, every nook and cranny, starting at his old attic room and working his way down.

"Jus' wanna fresh start," he'd said when Prowl inquired after his actions. "A completely fresh start."

Prowl could understand where he was coming from. Memories were painful enough – he didn't need to have constant reminders of what was lying about his home, tainting his new life. So, for those few orns, after Prowl finished his shift, he picked up a scrub brush of his own and helped Jazz rid the house of any traces of the Seekers.

Once every surface of the house was clean and sparkling, Jazz had emphatically declared it was time to go shopping. Prowl was, much to his surprise, was required to assist in each and every purchase, from large things like furniture down to the basic simplicities like drinking cubes and other kitchen items. It took them at least another deca-cycle to slowly fill the house, as they had limited time to actually make the purchases, working around Prowl's work shifts. It was quite a sight to behold once it was finally complete. What had been just a house – a cage – was finally a home. There was finally peace to be had within the walls that had for so long held Jazz captive. It was then that Jazz asked Prowl to leave the little apartment he had taken up when he'd left the Towers and come stay with him. Prowl, after the barest astrosecond of consideration, agreed. He was moved out of his temporary residence and into Jazz's home – _their _home – that very orn. It was later that same orn, in celebration of the fresh start to their life together, that they finally joined together in body and mind in sweet love making for the first time.

They could not have been happier together. As time passed, their love for one another only grew, evolved, multiplied. It had been apparent from the first time they met that they were meant to be together, but not even they could have imagined how deeply their feelings would go. From the first, tentative steps they had taken in the gardens of the Towers, when the seeds of love had been planted, to the present orn, where they could not imagine being apart, love for each other running from their very cores.

Before they knew it, nearly a vorn had passed since that fateful night when they had met for the first time at the party that announced Hound and Mirage as Intended. They were soon to be attending another festivity held by the noble and his mate: their bonding ceremony. Prowl was happy for his friend and ex-employer, glad that at last he would be bonded to the one he'd loved for so long. Jazz was just as thrilled the time had finally come – he'd gotten to know and grown close to the couple over the past vorn. They both looked forward to the fast approaching orn. (Prowl expressed a serious relief and gratitude that he was no longer in the noble's service, knowing the state of frantic activity the Towers would be in by now. Jazz merely scoffed at him, accusing him of being ridiculous and over-reacting.)

The party to follow the ceremony was to be, as most everything was with the Towers, a large and grand event. The ceremony itself, however, was rather surprising. There were a limited number of mechs invited to witness Hound and Mirage exchange their vows. Prowl and Jazz felt very honored to be among this intimate group. It was held in a clearing of the gardens, a few rows of chairs facing a temporary alter. Prowl and Jazz sat in the back corner, holding each other's hands and sitting in peaceful silence, each reminiscing about the last time they had been in those special gardens together.

The ceremony began. The mech performing the bonding gave a short speech before beginning the official process. He spoke of dedication, the dedication two must have to one another to perform the act of bonding. He spoke of love, the deep feelings that must already exist and the immeasurable lengths that they would grow once two sparks were made one. And he spoke of eternity. This was the ultimate step. Once bonded, there was no going back. There were no second chances. There was nothing else. They would be your reason for living, your reason for everything. There would only be your bonded, forever and for all eternity.

Linked hands tightening almost painfully, Prowl and Jazz turned as one to face one another, sharing a weighted look. Without a word being spoken, they silently agreed. A single tear of joy running down his cheekplate, Jazz leaned into his mate, capturing his lips in an ardent kiss.

They decided not to wait. Two deca-cycles – that was all they would wait, all they _could_ wait. Once they had made the decision, their sparks longed to finally be joined, creating an almost painful ache each orn they were kept apart. They both agreed that Optimus would perform the ceremony. As a government official, he had the power to oversee the proceedings. They asked him the orn after Hound and Mirage's bonding ceremony, and, with a kind, knowing smile, he had said it would be his honor.

Bluestreak, Prowl's younger co-creation, was brought in from the Youth Sector in Praxus for the ceremony. Jazz took to the talkative young bot immediately. He had not been there more than a few orns when Jazz, completely enraptured, had taken Prowl aside and expressed his desire for the youngling to remain in Iacon and live with them. Prowl, a bit surprised, affirmed that it was really what his mate wanted before agreeing with his whole spark. They inquired of Bluestreak himself if he would like that, to which he immediately responded, "Frag yeah!" (Prowl had a few choice words with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe after that, as the Twins had been spending just as much if not more time with the youngling than his Intended, taking the young bot under their proverbial wing and, apparently, teaching him their bawdy ways.)

Mirage and Hound returned from their post-bonding vacation the orn before Prowl's and Jazz's ceremony was to take place. Prowl wasted no time in contacting his friend and inviting him to attend. Mirage, while initially surprised at the information he was to be bonded, then shocked at how soon it was to take place, and absolutely aghast at the fact that Prowl had not allowed him to arrange an extravagant post-ceremony party for him, assured his friend that he and Hound would be there to support him and Jazz.

It was small and simple, just the way Prowl and Jazz wanted it to be. It took place in backyard of Optimus's home, their only guests being Elita, Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Hound, and Mirage. They gathered in a semi-circle facing the pair of black and whites. Optimus stood behind them, smiling down at them as he recited the proper ritual for bonding ceremonies. Jazz and Prowl hardly heard a word of it, optics trained on one another, hands grasped tightly, caught up in a world that consisted of only each other. They stumbled through their vows to one another, feelings of love so overwhelmingly strong they could barely speak.

"I take you as my mate–"

"—from this orn forward—"

"—loving no other but you—"

"—binding myself to you in mind, body, and spark—"

"—for the rest of time—"

"—beyond even the forces of deactivation—"

"—I will remain one with you—"

"—even as the Matrix calls us home—"

"—and all are one."

And with that, it was over. In the optics of Cybertron, they were a bonded couple. They came together, arms wrapped tightly about each other, lips meeting in a passionate kiss amid the applause and cheers of their friends and family.

They remained at the Senator's house a while longer, sipping at cubes of celebratory high-grade, allowing their small group of friends to congratulate them repeatedly, never removing the arms wrapped around each others waists. They grew more and more anxious to return to their own home as the night went on, sparks longing to physically complete what had been verbally sanctioned. Fortunately, Elita, ever observant, noticed this and brought the festivities to an end early. Proclaiming that Bluestreak was tired and needed to recharge, she sent everyone on their way. (Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, cottoning on to Elita's real reasoning for kicking them out, looked like they wanted to make a lewd comment at Jazz and Prowl's expense, but they glanced at the Enforcer's younger brother, then at the Enforcer himself, and refrained.)

Saying their goodbyes, accepting one last round of congratulations from all, Prowl and Jazz began for home, leaving Bluestreak in the care of Optimus and Elita for the night. They opted to walk over driving their alt modes, refusing to break contact with one another even for that short distance. No words were spoken as they walked. Nothing needed to be said. The tangible love that flowed between them was enough.

They finally arrived home and took to their room. As anxious to bond as they were, the kisses were sweet and slow, each lingering movement a ghosting promise of what was to come. Hands slowly reached out, stroking and touching almost hesitantly, like they were doing it for the first time again. A slow, steady heat began building within them, starting at their core and filling them outward until they could take no more and, without bidding, their chestplates parted, revealing to each other their glowing life force. As their sparks merged for the first time, they became one, instantly absorbing the essence of each other, mingling together until they could not tell where one ended and the other began. They basked in the warmth and love of one another as long as they could, holding back their overloads for just a moment more of this bliss, just a little while longer of such pure joy, until their bodies could stand no more and the powerful wave of overload washed over them simultaneously.

Reluctantly, their sparks parted, caressing one another one last time before retreating to individual chambers. Chestplates closing, sealing off their sparks, Prowl and Jazz weakly continued to hold each other close, furiously working cooling fans and the pinging of metal the only sounds in the room. Words were superfluous now. They didn't need them to know how at peace the other felt, how immeasurably happy they both were, how complete they at last were.

Overtaxed systems demanded that they initiate their recharge subroutines. Too weary to fight their own bodies, the pair of lovers allowed themselves to succumb to the tempting lull of recharge, sharing one last mutual feeling of love before slipping off-line. While they did not know what the vorns would bring them, what hardships they might face, what travesties may befall them, they knew that as long as they had each other, everything else would be alright.

* * *

Final author's note: Well, that's it! *wipes sweat off forehead* Jazzerella is now officially finished! And I, for one, am quite proud of myself for at last having completed a multi-chapter fic. (This is the first one from ANY of my fandoms. I have a bad habit of abandoning stories when the writer's block sets in.) Anyways, it was fun to write, despite it being a giant angst ball, and I hope those of you that have been following along enjoyed the ride.


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